All Bets Off
by Lassroyale
Summary: When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: Merlin
1. Between Duty and Destiny

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 1 – "Between Duty and Destiny"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(non-con)  
Disclaimer: The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.

**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: Merlin

**A/N:** I err…forgot I had been writing this one. This is a much darker fic than my other Merlin story I have going and might end up being longer as well. While it will be eventual Arthur/Merlin, the ride there is rife with bumps and obstacles, savvy?

Please let me know if you guys like it and I will continue it.

**Chapter 1: "Between Duty and Destiny"**

***

The problem with aristocracy, was that the children of blue bloodlines were often rotten to the core. Many of them were plump and lazy, having not had to lift a finger for themselves since birth. They were often spoiled and exceedingly arrogant and knew the surest way to get what they wanted was to throw a temper tantrum; a practice that most people had grown past by the age of eight.

Their parents, of course, were generally busy scheming ways to further their status amongst their peers and their children in turn, learned the traits of backstabbing, intrigue, and trickery. They called it sophism amongst nobility and knavery for those unfortunate enough to have been born a peasant. People, sometimes even their own peers, were nothing more than objects waiting to be manipulated by the most cunning hand.

After all, peasants weren't people...most of them were treated poorer than a favored hunting dog by those whose birth had dictated that they were better - insofar as society viewed it, at least.

It made Merlin queasy to when he thought about it and positively ill at the prospect of having to entertain one of these awful prats for a whole week. Unfortunately there was nothing to be done; when Ambrosius Aurelianus came to stay, his awful son, Brom, came too. At least Arthur seemed to be as apprehensive about it as he was, if his foul mood and the number of times he made him polish every bit of steel he owned was any indication.

In contrast, Uther seemed to be roused to a state of near benevolence, evidenced by the fact that Merlin had only been thrown in the stocks twice during the week leading up to Aurelianus' and Brom's arrival. The townsfolk too, were in a fuss, each trading their own bit of gossip about the visiting nobility; mostly the men muttering darkly that they should lock up their daughters and the women worrying about their untried sons.

It filled Merlin with morbid curiosity, especially since three days ago Morgana had outright _refused_ to be there when Aurelianus and his son were staying in the castle, despite Uther's demands that, as his ward, she be present. (Apparently Brom was _that _appalling.) She had argued so vehemently and made the king's life (and every person whom she subsequently came in contact with) such a living nightmare, that Uther, in rare form, had given into her wishes.

Thus Morgana and Gwen had swept off to stay with the Dutchess of Gascony in her large summer estate in Verulamium, a small city near Camelot.

_That_ had tipped Arthur into such a black mood that Merlin had been looking for other chores around the castle to avoid him, which is how he found himself grooming the king's horse - a task which had been assigned to him as a result of loitering in Uther's line of sight too long with his hands unoccupied.

He was concentrating on brushing down down Elypis' already gleaming coat for the third time when a voice cut into whatever thought had been possessing him.

"Do you realize that you are possibly the worst manservant I have ever had?" said Arthur from nearby.

Merlin jumped and turned to look at the prince. A strange flutter rippled through his stomach at the sight of the tall blonde as he leaned over one of the stall doors and brushed his steed's forelock in a tender gesture. His pale hair was almost silver under the light of the moon's full eye, making him look softer and less harsh; almost vulnerable. The flicker of the torchlight further cast Arthur in display of light and dark, like a chiaroscuro portrait painted by a master's brush. Of course when he spoke, the moment was gone quicker than a maidenhead on a wedding night.

"I've been waiting for you to draw my bath for what seems like a fortnight," said Arthur, shooting an irritated glance at the sorcerer, "and here I find you brushing my father's horse down for the third time." Merlin immediately began to protest and a somewhat exasperated look crossed his features.

"You hardly let me forget it," he began, "surely by now half of Camelot knows what an _awful_ servant I am." Despite the dryness of his words there was a puckish glint within his deep blue eyes. He was about to to say more, when a thought occurred to him. He immediately became suspicious and half-turned his attention back to the king's horse. "How long have you been, um, watching me?" he asked as casually as he could manage, which turned out to be not casually at all.

Arthur's trademark smirk; the one that made Merlin's heart skip a beat, the one that was reserved just for him (or so he thought); curved the prince's lips. He abandoned fussing with his steed and stalked towards the sorcerer with smooth, sure steps. His ice blue eyes were intense, though the intensity was offset by a curious twinkle that made Merlin's pulse quicken slightly.

"Long enough," drawled Arthur drawing closer than necessary, crowding the dark-haired boy against Elypis' broad side, "to know that you are avoiding me." He leaned over and plucked the curry brush from the sorcerer's long fingers, his gloved palm brushing against Merlin's soft skin for a lingering moment. He spoke in a low voice and his warm breath stirred the dark fringe of hair near the other's ear. "That, I should think, is a punishable transgression," he mused, a faint trace of humor colouring his tone, "tell me, " he continued, "what would be a suitable punishment for making a prince wait for his bath?"

Merlin was at war within himself. On one hand his tongue was dripping with a playful comeback. On the other, his throat felt rather tight and his stomach was doing odd little flips, as if anticipating something. Arthur was partially leaning towards him, one hand resting near his on Elypis' wither, with his head gently tilted to one side as he awaited an answer. The air between them was almost suffocating but he found that he was rooted to the spot. It would only take him tilting up his chin and leaning forward, it'd be so easy...

"You could trade me in for a less clumsy servant," he whispered in a voice which was lower and far more serious than he had intended.

At his words, something flickered through the prince's eyes, darkening them until they reminded Merlin of a tumultuous sea. There was anger there, but within the depths, the longer he looked, he saw other things too. He thought something which could have been affection, though it was mixed with such fierce possessiveness and such confused longing, that Merlin thought he might be looking into his _own_ eyes.

"Don't you _ever _say that," warned Arthur, his voice suddenly sharp, "don't you ever think that I would just _give_ you away." He paused and then said one thing which unwound the knot in the sorcerer's throat; his name: "Merlin". His voice was so thick with restrained emotion that Merlin acted upon impulse and leaned forward the last few inches.

His lips brushed Arthur's tentatively and they were warm upon his mouth - and very still. For a long moment the prince did nothing and Merlin could feel the pang of rejection plant a boot solidly in his sternum, making it hard to breath. Embarrassment colored ruddy red bloomed high on his cheeks and he tilted away, mumbling some apology, when suddenly Arthur's hands were on either side of his face forcing him still.

"I...Merlin, I just _can't_." His voice broke nor was there any conviction to his words or in the spaces of his heart. He searched Merlin's eyes, almost pleadingly, and whispered again, "I can't."

Rejection hit Merlin as soundly as if Elypis had delivered him a solid kick with his hindquarters. He watched the conflict openly spar on Arthur's face; want and need struggling against honor and duty. He saw the uncertainty in the other's eyes; he saw the yearning behind the sky blue irises. He wanted to reach up and shake him and say, "bugger it all!" to duty and propriety.

He wanted to bury his face into the curve of his prince's neck and whisper against that pale skin that he _knew_, with a force greater even than the magic in his veins, that he and Arthur were meant for something more than their stations in life. He wanted to breath against the gentle dip at the base of the other's throat and taste the sweat that collected there. He wanted to take that prat's face in his palms and yell, "I am for you, don't you _see_?"

He did none of those things.

Instead, Arthur's words pinched the air from his lungs and he gasped, trying to think through the sudden flood of shame, anger, and hurt that made him dizzy and a bit nauseous. The sorcerer felt his chest constrict, and he discovered that he was clenching his fists so tightly that he was in danger of leaving crescent-shaped gouges in his palms.

With no small effort on his part, Merlin found his breath again and slipped out from the prince's proximity. His body instantly yearned for the electric warmth that coursed through his skin whenever Arthur was near. He felt a hand grip his wrist and he flinched at the touch, then stilled, like an animal poised on the edge of fight or flight.

"Merlin, you have to understand," began Arthur, letting go of his manservant's arm when he saw the other's back stiffen. A swirl of guilt, sadness, and frustration coursed through him like a watercolor gone awry; how could he tell him why they couldn't do _this_? How could he tell him that he had been perfectly happy to go along and marry a princess he didn'tknow...at least he had been until he met Merlin? How could he tell him how much he thought of the clumsy fool when he wasn't around?

And...how could he tell him how his father had threatened to send Merlin away, if he found that he had become too attached to him?

"_Don't_," said Merlin, the word dropping hard and fast from his mouth as if it were a hot coal.

"Just don't Arthur," he said, his voice unable to contain his hurt, "I don't think I could stand it."

The prince crossed his arms over his chest, a lifetime of pride and defense mechanism snapping up their iron walls in a blink. "Don't what?" he challenged, taking a step towards his manservant and grabbing him by the shoulder. He whirled him forcefully around until they were again face to face. "What,_ Merlin_?" he asked harshly, "what would you command your _prince _to do?"

Merlin jerked out of Arthur's grasp and glared, his azure gaze wounded though his anger matched his lord's in spades. "Don't lie to me, _sire_," he spat, stepping backwards and out of reach. "Don't lie to yourself, either." Merlin bowed formally at the waist, his movements stiff as if he were a wooden automaton. "If it pleases m'lord, I will go draw your bath now."

Arthur turned his back on his manservant, every hard muscle lined with tension. "See to it that the water is at least decently warm," he replied icily, arrogance smoothly covering the desperate feeling rising to the back of his throat, "and don't bother waiting for me, either."

"As you wish."

Merlin departed, risking a backwards glance. His face fell when he realized that Arthur hadn't bothered to see if he had gone or not. Steeling himself against the pervading ache in his heart, the sorcerer hastened to carry out his duty and seek refuge in the coldness of his own bed as quickly as he could.

***

When he was sure that Merlin had gone, Arthur's shoulders sagged and the facade of cold-hearted prince melted. With it went his strength and he soon found himself slumped against a stall door, his face buried in one shaking, gloved hand.

***

(To be continued...)


	2. Eavesdropping Revelations

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter – "Eavesdropping Revelations"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Word Count:** 2292  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** This is a much darker fic than my other Merlin story I have going and might end up being longer as well. While it will be eventual Arthur/Merlin, the ride there is rife with bumps and obstacles, savvy?  
**A/N 2:** Kind of a filler chapter as I work out pacing. I promise we'll get to meet Brom in the next one.

**Eavesdropping Revelations**

***

A few days had passed since the events in the barn, and Merlin and Arthur had fallen into an uneasy - if unspoken - agreement that neither would mention what had transgressed. For the most part they went about their lives as if nothing had happened, but there was a tenseness behind their interactions that indicated that neither was satisfied with how things had been left.

Both the prince and the warlock dealt with this in their own way.

Whenever there seemed as if there was a quiet moment between just the two of them, Merlin would suddenly find that he had something to go do..._elsewhere_. It was frustrating Arthur terribly, and in response he had taken to lading his manservant with so many tasks that it ensured that Merlin was never too far out of his sight. He had taken to idling by the gangly boy during even the most menial tasks, offering the explanation that Merlin was such a poor servant he needed constant overseeing.

Mainly, it was so he could smirk at his manservant's growing exasperation at his forced presence, and, if he were being completely honest, to reassure himself that he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon.

"Is it fun for you, _sire_, to stand there while I polish your armor?" asked Merlin sullenly as he sat in Arthur's room, carefully rubbing oil on one of the prince's greaves. He barely glanced up when the other pushed away from the window and instead walked over to perch himself on the table next to him. The blonde picked up his right quisse and inspected it critically, glancing sidelong at Merlin's bent, dark head.

"No, not particularly," answered Arthur, sounding appropriately bored, "but I just wanted to make sure that you were doing your job correctly. Well, to the best of _your_ abysmal abilities at least." His tone was purposefully light, though there was a certain sting to it, like the nip of sharp doll's teeth.

Merlin set down the greave with a clatter, his eyes flashing visibly with his irritation. "I think that I could manage to polish your armor unsupervised," he replied peevishly. He was about to say something more, a scathing comment burning behind the dam of his teeth, when he sighed. The fight ebbed out of him and he ran his fingers through his tousled black hair, abandoning his task for the nonce. "You'll get a reprieve from me soon enough," he assured in a thoroughly downtrodden voice. "Won't that be nice for you?" he added unkindly, just to show that he had a bit of snark left in him yet.

"Undoubtedly," snapped Arthur, though he noted the slump of Merlin's shoulders with a frown. "Were you planning on taking a leave of absence without my knowledge?" He returned his attention to the quisse, rubbing his thumb over the polished edge. As such, he missed the bleak look that crossed his manservant's face.

"No, not that," said the warlock brusquely, refusing to look at Arthur. "Your father has commanded me to be of personal service to Brom Aurelianus for the duration of his stay." He couldn't quite keep the misery out of his voice and silently berated himself for it.

Arthur dropped the quisse suddenly and the clang of solid metal hitting the hard stone floor reverberated through the room.

"_What_?" he growled, and his voice was so low and so furious that Merlin turned in his seat defensively. His heart hammered in his chest; Arthur's wrath was palpable. Before he could answer, Arthur was on his feet and had snatched up a fistful of his manservant's tunic in his hands. His fingers trembled around the fabric; it was if every thread of his body was vibrating with his anger. "When did he say this?" he demanded harshly, his face mere inches from Merlin's.

"Just the other day," Merlin murmured, completely thrown off by the other's reaction. "He sent a message via Gaius..." he trailed off. His dark brows furrowed with a combination of confusion and fear. "What's wrong, Arthur?" He held his breath; it was the first time he has used the prince's name since the incident in the barn.

Hearing his name upon Merlin's lips seemed to cut through Arthur's anger and he started, then drew back. He released his manservant's shirt quickly, as if scalded by the material. "That's just unacceptable," he answered tersely, his jaw tight. "I must speak to my father immediately."

Without offering anything further by way of explanation, Arthur strode briskly from his chambers. His boots could be heard clicking down the hall at a fast, hasty clip. The echoes hung in the air before fading, like the dwindling of ominous thunder.

Merlin, who was quite flabbergasted (and outright intrigued) by the prince's reaction, waited a breath before following.

***

Arthur strode down the hall as if his boot-heels were on fire. His very pores seemed to seep hostility; and as such, every servant and guard who crossed his path hastened to remove themselves from it as quickly as possible.

His goal was clear; _find his father_.

He found Uther speaking in earnest to one of the cooks in his private dining hall, where he was instructing the man as to the types of food his guests would prefer when they arrived. Arthur forced open the heavy doors and stormed in, disregarding any sense of etiquette. Unacknowledged by either the cook or his father past a quick once-over, he paced restlessly, and a twitchy, belligerent energy rolled down the length of his spine. His blue eyes were focused solely upon the king and they kindled with barely reigned resentment.

Uther dismissed the cook with a wave of his hand and poured himself a goblet of wine, continuing to ignore his son as he fumed and paced just a mere few feet away. He indulged in a long sip, making a show of it, and then set down his glass after his point had been sufficiently proven. "Is there something that you required, Arthur?" he asked in coolly. "I am most curious to discover why you felt the need to interrupt me unannounced and in such an indecorous fashion."

"I would like to know why, father," said Arthur curtly, coming to a halt directly in front of Uther, "you have ordered _my_ manservant to serve Brom Ambrosious when he comes to stay." He folded his arms across his chest and waited, tossing his blonde mane haughtily.

Uther nodded, as if he had been expecting this sooner or later. "I was wondering when you would find out." He held up a hand to forestall any commentary, and something in his eyes flickered dangerously. "Your manservant could learn a thing or two about discipline, Arthur. I've been waiting to see that you will take the right steps necessary to shape him into a proper servant, but time and time again I find myself disappointed at your lack of willingness to deal the necessary heavy-handed punishments. You let that _servant_ talk back to you and run amuck without even the barest sense of manners. You treat him as if he is a friend you grew up with, not someone who is below you in status."

Arthur could scarcely believe what he was hearing. "He is a person, father! Not an animal. If I choose to give Merlin some leeway here and there I have good reason."

"Yes, and that reason is that you are overly fond of him." Uther arched a brow at his son's expression of denial and shock. "Do you deny it, then?" he asked. "If that is so, am I hopefully incorrect in my assumption that you have a high level of attachment to the boy?"

"I-I err," Arthur paused, remembering the way Merlin's lips had felt upon his in the barn. It had been nice, if a little wet, and it had felt right. More-so, it had been damn well _electrifying_. "I _do_ care about him," he finished lamely, in a quiet voice. "He has always done his best for me, despite how atrocious his abilities might otherwise be. He is fiercely loyal, and...and I wouldn't trade him for the world." He was surprised at his own words but kept his expression carefully even.

Uther blinked at his son's revelation, hiding his surprise well. "Then let Brom mold him into the servant you deserve. It will be good for you both to spend some time apart. You are very..._close_. Others have been talking." While he may have been half pleading with his son, Uther's words were sharp as a knife's edge.

"I don't care a whit about what other people are saying, father!" Arthur yelled, losing his temper finally. He stepped forward, determined have his say. "Brom is a _monster_. I will not have my manservant mistreated because of _your_ sense of propriety and your personal dislike of Merlin."

"I would be very careful about how you choose to speak to me," warned Uther quickly, his tone frigid. "You are not yet king and your word does not yet trump my own."

"Please father," pleaded Arthur, "give the task to Bryce, the servant who usually attends to Sir Gaiwan. He would jump at the opportunity. Just not Merlin, please, not him." He stared at the wall past Uther's left ear stubbornly, before dragging his gaze back to the king's. When he spoke, his voice was hard. "You know what Brom would do to him. At least Bryce wouldn't capture his fancy."

Uther stared intently at his son for a long moment, letting the silence drop between them like a heavy veil. He saw something within Arthur's clear blue eyes that deeply disturbed him; a spark of _real_ emotion for his manservant. He had to concede that he knew of Brom's...somewhat _unconventional_ tastes, especially when it came to young men. Merlin was just his type, too.

After a long moment of silence he nodded curtly. "Fine, but make sure he stays out of trouble for this next week or I swear by the Gods, Arthur, I will have him whipped and thrown into the dungeons." He smiled thinly at the grateful look that melded with relief upon his son's features. "Now why don't you join me for a spot of lunch? It's been awhile since we've enjoyed an afternoon together."

Arthur glanced at the door as if caught between his desire to rush back to his room and his duty, and then dipped his chin into a quick nod of acquiescence. "Of course father, what is on the menu?"

***

Outside the door, Merlin's heart thumped wildly in his chest. His palms felt sweaty and his breath sounded harsh in his ears as he tried to absorb everything that he had just heard. He was rooted to the spot, pressed flush against the wall, his high cheekbones swept with a lovely rose-hued blush.

Arthur _did_ care about him.

Despite knowing that he had come across this information illicitly - it was after all, against the law or at least against good manners to eavesdrop on the king - Merlin couldn't help the big silly grin that broke across his face.

Arthur really cared.

After a moment, when he was sure he could stand on his own two feet and not stumble like a newborn colt, the sorcerer pushed away from his wall and quietly retreated down the hall. There was a small bounce to his step that he didn't try to contain; _Arthur cared for him._

***

Several hours later as Merlin was warming Arthur's bed with hot stones from the hearth, he turned and caught the prince staring at him with such intensity that it stole his breath and the very thoughts from his head. The piercing blue of the blonde's gaze was like a pinprick of sky on a grey day, and it held the warlock in place as firmly as if shackles had been clamped on his wrists and ankles.

Wordlessly, Arthur rose and stalked towards Merlin, his body drawn taut like a slinking predator. He stood in front of his manservant, half menacing and half unsure, before he wrapped his fingers around Merlin's shoulder.

"You serve nobody but _me_," he said in a quiet rumble, his words fervent and hushed. "Don't forget that."

Electricity crackled between the two and Merlin simply nodded, not trusting his voice at that moment. Arthur, before he could stop himself, ran the pad of his thumb along the soft skin of his manservant's collarbone, committing the silken texture to memory.

"Good. You may go." It was a clear dismissal and Merlin departed from the prince's room, wondering at the way Arthur's calloused thumb had felt as it stroked against his flesh.

(To be continued...)


	3. Devil at the Door

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 3 – "Devil at the Door"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 3310**  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** This is a much darker fic than my other Merlin story I have going and might end up being longer as well. While it will be eventual Arthur/Merlin, the ride there is rife with bumps and obstacles, savvy?

**A/N 2:** Oh boys, you need a communications therapist. Also, this chapter turned out longer than expected, heh. It fairly ran away with me. Hope you enjoy - I will work on getting Chapter 4 out soon after, but I have to focus on a SPN Renegade Angel's fic so I can make my deadline. Hopefully this might tide you over. :)

**Chapter 3 - "Devil at the Door"**

Arthur opened his eyes to darkness. The fire in the hearth had burned down to steaming coals and the candle near his bedside was nothing but a puddle of wax. He remained immobile, ensconced in the warmth of sheets and comforter, and willed the heaviness of sleep to settle once more.

It would not.

The prince sighed and rolled over, curling onto his side as he wriggled into a comfortable position. If he were to guess, he'd figure that it was a few hours before dawn, and subsequently, a few hours before he _had_ to be up and on patrol. If only he could rest for just a little longer, he might be able to face the coming day with a clearer head. Try as he might, sleep refused to offer her embrace.

Arthur sat up with a resigned grumble, his covers puddling about his lean, bare waist. He slumped back against the headboard, his pale hair a haphazard tangle against the deep shadow of early morning. Absently, he counted Tartary lambs in his mind's eye, and grinned slightly when he imagined them bounding gleefully over Merlin's clumsy head. The thought, though briefly amusing, did little to actually soothe him.

The prince rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, his fingers seeking out the knots formed there; with everything that had been going on in the last several days, stress had left his body web of tightly knotted muscle. He tried to work some of them out with little success; it was like attempting to mold rock into something malleable with nothing more than a cotton swab.

Arthur gave up after a moment or two and tried instead to ignore the solid feeling of dread that had planted itself in his stomach. It was like a growing tangle of weeds; each day it worsened and spread, until it threatened to overtake him completely. At times it chilled him as if he had swallowed an icicle whole. Other times, it felt more like he had sucked in the heat from a blacksmith's bellows.

The feeling gnawed at him until he couldn't focus on anything else but the trepidation that was quickly approaching on the canter of a horse's hooves. Brom would soon be here. The devil would soon be knocking at the door.

Knowing that sleep would never come now that Brom had made his way into his thoughts, Arthur rose well before the sun had even thought to make it's appearance and dressed himself and exited his room, intent on find a place where he could think and breathe in the crisp morning air.

***

Elsewhere in the castle, Merlin found that sleep evaded him like mercury on a hot day. He tossed and turned fitfully, anticipation and a cat's curiosity keeping him awake long after the night had settled. Anxiety flowed into excitement, then cycled back again; just who _were_ Ambrosius and Brom Aurlieanus?

Arthur hadn't been willing to say much about the arriving guests past a distinct warning to steer clear of Brom and to mind his manners in front of Ambrosius. The servants in the castle hadn't been all that helpful either, though they cautioned that Ambrosius Aurlieanus was the Duke of a nearby duchy and an old wartime friend of the king. As such they told Merlin to try and not trip over his own feet if in the Duke's presence. When he asked of Brom, the most they could tell him was that he was exceedingly spoiled.

If the warlock had to guess, he would say that the castle staff was frightened of the repercussions that would occur, should any negative word get back to either Uther or his two guests.

It drove Merlin's natural inquisitiveness into overdrive; he practically salivated at the thought of how awful this pair must be. At the same time, he was apprehensive about their arrival because for some reason Arthur had been exceedingly angry and upset these last few days.

It had little to do with what had happened in the barn; Merlin understood that. It had everything to do - though it was purely conjecture at this point - with Brom Aurlieanus. For some reason unknown to him, Arthur _hated_ the young aristocrat with a deep, abiding, and most of all, _unwavering_ passion.

Merlin was sure that Brom had somehow hurt Arthur in the past, and he wanted to find out how and why. And then he wanted to teach Brom a lesson for hurting his prince.

He actually smiled at that, a quick, Cheshire cat grin in the darkness.

The warlock lay still for a few more minutes before deciding that he would never be able to sleep; the suspense of the approaching day had claimed him entirely.

He rose, long limbs unfurling into a languid stretch, and then hastily threw on some clothes. He shrugged into an old jacket to shield himself against the bitter chill of first blush, and departed, careful not to wake Gaius on the way out.

***

Arthur loved the battlements in the early morning. It was cold, yes, but it was _quiet_ and that in itself was bliss. This early in the day the air was free of excess noise and smells, though sometimes if the wind was just right, he could catch a whiff of bread baking from the homes below.

He sometimes liked to stand there and watch the sun flood slowly over the horizon, creeping at first, before picking up speed as if it fully stretched itself awake. He liked to -

"Oh! What are you doing up this early?" interrupted a surprised and familiar voice. Arthur turned and glanced irritably at Merlin.

"I'm meditating," he replied unthinkingly. At Merlin's quiet snicker, Arthur shot him a glare that would have withered daisies on a grave site. "I should be asking _you_ what you're doing up here, seeing as for some reason you're constantly late in bringing me my breakfast," he groused, rolling his eyes.

Merlin managed a smile, feeling somewhat reassured that whatever damage had been done in the barn those few days ago, wasn't irreparable. After all, he knew that Arthur _did_ care, despite his sire's best effort to act otherwise; or the fact that the other had no clue he knew. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards even further when he thought of it, and he had to glance away.

Arthur noticed his manservant's grin and wondered if the sudden glow that seemed to illuminate Merlin's angular features was just a trick of the light and his frazzled nerves. Surely too, the sun must be rising early; it was the only explanation for quick flash of warmth that shot through his chest and slid up his neck. He scowled. "What are you grinning about?" he asked hotly, though there was little bite to his words.

"Just the thought of you meditating, is all." Merlin moved to stand near him, a comfortable distance away. "How long have you been up here?" he asked with a sly glance from the corner of his eye.

Arthur scoffed. "Hours," he replied confidently, tossing a smirk in the other's direction. Merlin made a noise that clearly said he didn't believe him. The prince, true to his royal nature, managed to look as shocked and affronted as feline who just had water thrown in its face. "You don't believe me?"

The warlock tilted his head and tried to suppress a snort of laughter, unsuccessfully. "Nope," he replied with a shrug of his thin shoulders.

"Why's that?" griped Arthur testily, turning his attention back to the town below as it began to rouse itself unhurriedly from its slumber. He felt Merlin's hand close over his left wrist and dropped his eyes to those long, delicate fingers that curled lightly around his forearm.

"Whenever it is cold, _really_ cold like it can be up here in the very early morning, you tend to hold your hand a certain way like your thumb and forefinger are stiff," answered Merlin. He traced the outline of Arthur's gloved thumb with his own, applying the slightest pressure as he did so. He glanced up and saw that Arthur was staring intently at his face, his lips barely parted, and his eyes were heavy as if lost in a memory.

Their gazes met and instantly something surged between the them like a static charge. It writhed in the air, a nearly tangible thing, as it crackled along the the connection of their hands. It skipped along the fine hairs of the skin and vibrated along the ridges of the spine. Merlin could feel it thrum against the outer shell of his ear and Arthur felt it tingle along the bridge of his nose.

Then it was gone - whatever _it_ was, broken the instant Arthur wrenched his hand from his manservant's grasp. He wheeled away, taking a few steps to put some space between them. "By the Gods above and below..." he cursed, feeling hot, like he had just been sitting in a kiln in full armor.

Merlin was silent, whether from a state of shock or something else entirely, Arthur didn't know. What he _did_ know was that he felt shaky, unbalanced, and flushed in a manner that was entirely inappropriate.

He did the only thing he could think of in that moment: _ignore whatever had passed between them altogether._

"I'm surprised you noticed that," he said after a moment, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "I injured my hand trying to beat our old quartermaster in a sparring match when I was nine." He chuckled, and it sounded as fake as it felt. "I thought it had healed well enough, but cold weather sometimes makes the muscles cramp uncomfortably." He trailed off, feeling unsettled and awkward. The tension in the air grew thick enough to spread onto a cracker.

All the of the previous camaraderie had vanished in an instant; it was like they were back in the barn all over again, except this time there was no kissing. _'Which is a shame,'_ thought Arthur, though he banished the errant thought straight away; he couldn't afford to even entertain the idea.

"I know a lot of things about you, Arthur," said Merlin quietly, glancing at him. "I know you went to your father and told him that you would not let me serve Brom Ambrosius instead of you." His tone was a mixture of challenge and hurt; he just wanted Arthur to acknowledge that there _was_ something between them. He wanted him to say that he cared..._to him_.

"Who told you that?" demanded the Arthur sharply, his expression twisted with defensive anger.

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling, but he couldn't quite contain the acid in his tone when he answered. "That doesn't matter," he snapped refusing to back down, even in the face of the prince's fury. "I know that you did it. And..." he was interrupted.

"And _what_?" snarled Arthur, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He was poised as if for a fight and it took visible effort on his part to step back and unclench his fists. Fear drove his anger and anger was a far more comfortable and reliable feeling for him. Anger was safe.

"I know you care for me," said the warlock finally, his words cracking through the cold air like the bite of a whip. "And you know I care for you. So why deny it?" There was something more to his words and something beseeching within his gaze that Arthur could scarcely refute.

Yet he did just that.

"I was protecting you, my _manservant_," he answered cruelly, ignoring the pain that his own words caused him, "I would have said anything to my father to at that point. You should be grateful." He choked as he said this, his jaw clenching around the words so tightly he thought his teeth might shatter. Inside, he felt hollow, as if he had just reached into his own body and pulled out his still-beating heart.

"Is that how it is?" whispered Merlin almost dazedly. Arthur's words hurt so much that he could feel himself slowly folding inwards upon himself, piece by broken piece.

The prince swallowed hard, steeling himself. This was better; this was for the best. "Yes," he replied in a flat, serious voice. "That's how it is." _That's how it_ has _to be._

Something broke between them, then, and both knew that this time, the damage just might be irreversible.

"Fine," said Merlin darkly. He whirled and stomped away, retreating from the battlements as fast as his feet would carry him.

Arthur wanted to scream and throw things and have a giant roaring tantrum as he watched his manservant turn his back on him and stalk off...away from him. His pride, however, wouldn't let him. Instead he remained on the parapet and stewed in his own tumultuous thoughts until long after the sun had began its ascent into the cloudless skies.

He didn't think this day could get any worse. It of course, did.

***

Late in the morning, with no grand fanfare but still with a solid welcome by Uther himself, Ambrosius and Brom Aurelianus arrived in Camelot.

Merlin was nowhere to be found, which worried Arthur more than he would care to admit. He searched for him when he was able to steal a moment away for himself, but no one - not Gaius or any of the castle staff - had seen where he had gone.

So the prince waited; impatiently, but he waited nevertheless, pacing back and forth in front of his window like a caged beast. He constantly cast his gaze out into the busy courtyard for any sign of his manservant's lanky build or a flash of a red kerchief. He cursed Merlin for his mulishness, when really he should have been cursing himself for his egotism. Maybe then...Arthur shook his head violently.

He couldn't permit such a dangerous line of thinking.

He was still pacing when he was called away to attend to a private luncheon with his father and Duke Aurelianus. Frustrated and distracted, he bowed out of the invitation to search the castle grounds once more.

He never did find Merlin...but somebody else did.

***

Merlin was proud of his hiding spot, really. He had stumbled upon it by accident one day, while picking an apple from a tree in the castle gardens. He found that if he climbed up into the low hanging branches and tucked his feet up as well, he could disappear completely from sight, camouflaged by the leaves. It was a spot he liked to come to when he needed some time to sit and think; when he _had_ time to sit and think, that is.

Right then he wanted to be alone. Well, at least right then he needed some distance between himself and Arthur.

The warlock was beginning to regret the way he had forced the prince into a corner this morning, though part of him was glad for it. At least he knew where he _really_ stood with the gorgeous prat. While it was good to know, the knowledge did little to plaster over the cracks in his heart.

The sound of approaching footsteps disrupted his brooding and Merlin stayed quite still, waiting with baited breath to see if whoever it was would come in his direction. It seemed to be that way, until the footsteps changed course and began to veer away from him. The warlock sighed in relief, and, forgetting himself, he slumped back and lost his balance.

With a startled cry, Merlin toppled out of the tree and fell to the ground in a graceless heap. He groaned and tried to move, making a small noise of triumphant satisfaction when he realized nothing had been broken. He lifted his head and found that he was staring at a pair of neatly polished leather boots.

Merlin craned his neck and looked up; up past a pair of stylish brown breeches, up past a wide black belt which encircled a lean waist, and then up the length of a sculpted torso swathed in a modest green tunic. His eyes unconsciously dawdled over the broad sweep of the stranger's shoulders, then snicked upwards those final inches. He found himself staring up into a masculine face that while not exactly handsome, per se, (not like Arthur's, at least) was striking in its own way.

"Quite the fall you took there, little squirrel," said the stranger with an easy grin, amusement flickering through dark green eyes. "Were you trying to steal apples from the king's orchid?" His voice was smooth, like the rustle of velvet sheets. The man offered his hand and Merlin took it, noting that he had well-cared for, clean fingernails.

With a strength that belied his wiry, almost svelte figure, the stranger hauled the warlock to his feet with ease.

Merlin gaped at him for a moment - this man was even taller than him. He flushed when he realized he had been staring and grinned ruefully instead. "Nah," he replied somewhat sheepishly, meeting the other's deep viridian gaze, "I was just, err, hiding." It seemed silly to admit it but it happened to be the truth.

The man chuckled and brushed a strand of longish russet hair from his brow. "I'm glad you were," said he with an appreciative smirk, "or else I might not have had the fortune to stumble upon a gem such as yourself." He leered a bit, but Merlin didn't find it threatening; at least not yet.

"Um, I'm sorry," said the warlock, realizing for the first time that he had no idea who this man was, "but who are you? I'm Merlin." Against decorum, he stuck out his hand. Something rippled beneath the surface of the man's eyes and he took his proffered hand in his own.

"I'm Brom Aurelianus," said he with a wink, "and it is a pleasure to meet such a tasty tidbit such as yourself."

Against his will, Merlin felt himself blush.

***

(To be continued...)


	4. Battle Lines

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 4 – "Battle Lines"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: **2841  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** This is a much darker fic than my other Merlin story I have going and might end up being longer as well. While it will be eventual Arthur/Merlin, the ride there is rife with bumps and obstacles, savvy?

**A/N 2:** Henceforth my warnings will be in full effect. This chapter turned out rather differently than I originally intended, but when I had written the first draft things seemed too rushed for the general flow of the story. I hope you guys enjoy - please R&R!

**Chapter 4 - "Battle Lines"**

***

Merlin bit into the juicy flesh of an apple with relish, savoring the snap and crunch of it as he sat in the cool shade of the apple tree had, just a bit ago, fallen out of. Next to him, reclining against the trunk in what could be described as a 'tasteful slouch', Brom watched him with the sort of avid interest of someone studying a new an unusual creature.

While the attention flattered the warlock, it was also somewhat disquieting; at times Brom tended to look at him like a indulged house cat contemplating its meal in a koi pond. Merlin took another bite of his apple and glanced over at his silent companion, feeling a twist low in his gut when he noticed the way the sunlight filtered through Brom's auburn hair, making it shine like strands of spun glass. He felt his gaze slip down to touch upon the sturdy square jaw and defined cleft chin, before focusing on the other's lips.

Merlin had to force the next bite down past the sudden lump in his throat. Brom's lower lip pouted out slightly, lending the man an unexpectedly provocative air.

When he looked up he realized that Brom had noticed his scrutiny, and had born the examination with enviable sang froid. The warlock glanced away quickly, feeling chastised, like he had been caught shamelessly eying something sinful. His ears burned as he achieved high color in the span of a couple of seconds or two, and he bit more forcefully into the apple than he intended.

"Ow!" he yelped, then swore when he tasted blood in his mouth where he had bitten the inside of his bottom lip. He tongued it carefully, probing the wound to try and identify the extent of the damage. He touched the tip of his finger to it and came away with a smear of red.

"You're rather clumsy, aren't you?" asked Brom from very close to his ear, and Merlin started, his pulse quickening when he saw how near the other man had drawn. He saw amusement in that dark green gaze and felt himself grin a bit, despite his embarrassment and keen awareness of Brom's body pressed slightly against his.

"Arthur tells me that all the time," he began to say, but broke off when he saw a dark look ripple through Brom's eyes. An expression of subtle distaste distorted his features and Merlin realized his error immediately; manservant to the prince or no, he was still in the company of someone with a higher status than him. There were rules to be followed. "I, err, I mean the prince of course. I'm sorry m'lord, I forgot myself."

Brom's look was questioning first, then understanding as comprehension dawned. "No no, my little squirrel," said he with a quick flash of white teeth, "I think you misunderstand my expression. It's merely that your lord and I haven't always seen eye to eye on a lot of things and it makes me quite jealous that you seem so..._comfortable_ with him."

Merlin raised a sable brow - Gaius would be proud - and canted his head slightly to one side. He munched thoughtfully on another bite of apple before replying. "It's hardly that he likes me," said he with a wistful look, "but we _have_ been through a lot together. _A lot._ Still, he tells me what an awful manservant I am all the time, so sometimes I just don't know why he keeps me around." Merlin laughed nervously and risked a sideways peek at Brom's face, inches from his own. "You don't need to hear this, m'lord." He waved his hand as if to physically dispel the somber mood that had fallen over him. "I must be boring you."

Brom suddenly grabbed his wrist with a movement so quick, it was like adder's strike, and when he spoke, it was in a voice that was hard and serious. "No, you're not," said he, and Merlin shivered; in that instant Brom's voice had the quality of velvet wrapped around steel. "Arthur is a fool if he doesn't see what's right in front of him. But I do, Merlin, and I am right here."

Then, without pretense, Brom brought Merlin's fingers to his mouth and slid the longest digit past his lips to the knuckle. The warlock gasped as he felt his finger enveloped in warmth and wetness, and his body was swept with a raw heat as he watched Brom suck the smear of blood clean from his skin. Something flashed through the aristocrat's eyes - Merlin thought it was satisfaction - but it vanished so quickly that he couldn't be sure.

He was entranced and uncomfortable, but couldn't force himself to move when Brom began to suck lightly on the tips of each of his fingers in turn, the nerve endings tingling when he blew lightly on the moistened skin. His senses began to overload when the other man nipped lightly on the underside of his wrist and then moved his mouth to suck harshly on the skin over his collarbone, after he ripped the red kerchief from his neck.

Brom was skillful and Merlin had never been touched like _this_. He wondered if Arthur's mouth would feel like this on his flesh and he closed his eyes, imagining that princely mouth gliding over him, bruising him...marking him. He moaned and was snapped out of his fantasy when Brom's hands pushed him back violently. His head slammed painfully into the solid trunk of the tree at his back.

Pain bloomed where his skull had struck the rough bark, and he looked in shock and disbelief at Brom's face as the man loomed before him.

"I am _not_ Arthur. Don't you _ever_ moan his name in my presence like that again," he snarled, looking decidedly less friendly as anger mottled his features. In fact Brom looked downright dangerous. When he gripped the back of Merlin's neck and shook him roughly, it was like a dog giving a thorough shake of a vermin it had just caught. He was also surprisingly strong.

Merlin stammered out an apology, "I'm sorry m'lord." He tried to sound as sincere as possible, but inwardly he writhed with a peculiar kind of panic; _this_ was an entirely different kind of danger. He had faced many things, from supernatural creatures to powerful sorcerers, with less fear spiking through him than there was now.

Instantly, Brom's features transformed back into the kind and attractive face that it had been just moments ago. He even looked remorseful. "I'm sorry I had to do that," he apologized in a voice thick with sincerity, "but hearing you moan Arthur's name like _that_ just made me so upset."

Merlin was very still as the other man drew close, until they were nearly nose to nose. He didn't think he could reconcile _this_ Brom with the one he had just glimpsed; and the one he had just glimpsed set his teeth on edge.

"What is going on here?" barked a familiar, infuriated voice. Merlin looked over Brom's shoulder and saw Arthur standing there, looking more enraged than he had ever seen him. They locked gazes and what the warlock saw there was a combination of fury, fear, and what could quite possibly be jealousy. "Merlin," growled Arthur, ignoring Brom even when the other man sat back on his haunches and gave a lazy wave, "get up and come here _right now_."

Under normal circumstances, Merlin would have protested the command and told Arthur that he was not some hunting dog that could be called to his master's side with a whistle and a pat on the thigh. Right then, however, he pushed himself to his feet and went to the prince's side without complaint.

"Arthur," he said in a quick, hushed tone, "I can explain -" but he was interrupted when the blonde held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Are you okay?" asked the prince, looking pointedly at his manservant mussed clothing. '_Did he hurt you?'_ remained unspoken. Merlin glanced at Brom, who by that time had risen and was leaning casually against the trunk of the apple tree, watching them with absent interest. He danced a coin over his knuckles and the silver piece glinted in the slanting rays of the sun.

"I'm fine," replied the warlock after a moment's hesitation.

"Good," said Arthur brusquely, turning his attention away from Merlin to focus on Brom instead. "Go polish my armor, I need to speak to Master Aurelianus alone."

"I just polished your armor," said Merlin before he could stop himself, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. The blonde looked at him sharply, warning flashing through his clear blue eyes.

"Now."

The warlock, taken aback, bit out a quick, "Yes _sire_," before striding off. He looked back once and frowned when he saw that the two nobles hadn't moved and were simply standing across from one another, engaged in a silent and charged glaring match.

In a moment he was gone, leaving Arthur and Brom to their discussion.

***

As soon as Merlin was out of sight Arthur closed the distance between himself and the russet-haired aristocrat. He jabbed a finger into Brom's chest, hard.

"Whatever your game is, Brom, you're going to have to play it with somebody else besides Merlin. He is _my_ manservant and I won't allow it." He spoke with a hard edge, his voice rough with the depth of his emotion. Brom just grinned humorlessly, his lips drawing back from his teeth in an almost feral manner.

"Oh but your manservant is just so _delicious_, Arthur," he said in a velvety purr. "I can still taste him on my lips, and he tastes so pure...so _untried_."

Before he had realized it, Arthur had grabbed Brom by the collar and shoved him back against the apple tree with barely checked force. His voice, when he spoke, was full of animus. "Don't even think about it," he spat, "I forbid it."

"Oh ho, you 'forbid' it, my prince?" answered Brom, his elegant brows drawn up in question. "You must really care for your manservant if you seek to pull rank on _me_." Where Arthur's voice was full of rage and fire, Brom's was of the same quality as marble; smooth, cold, and emotionless. "Would you like to take a wager that I can bed your manservant - one way or another - before you?" He waggled his brows suggestively, unperturbed that he was being pressed quite harshly into the solid trunk behind him.

Before Arthur could answer, Brom pushed him violently and slipped from his reach, cat-quick. He whirled and his green eyes were as stony as jade. "You listen to me, _prince_, I always get what I want, and what I want is Merlin." He grinned and danced nimbly out of the way when the blonde lunged at him. "You should know that already. But," he began to back up, beating a hasty retreat, "if you want to try and stop me, go ahead." He turned and jogged back through the orchard, escaping to the safety of the castle and his father's company.

Left alone and seething with a sort of fury he never knew he possessed, Arthur turned and punched the trunk of the apple tree, relishing the feel of pain when the skin of his knuckles split and bruised.

He only wished that it had been Brom's face, instead.

***

Merlin knew it was Arthur who walked into the armory by the weight and staccato click of his footsteps, without turning to see. He was still upset over the way he had been treated in the orchard, and before that, from their conversation on the battlements. So he ignored the prince, furiously polishing a piece of armor that was already gleaming.

"Merlin."

He didn't turn, but just dipped his clothe in more polish and rubbed over the same spot he had been rubbing for the better part of ten minutes.

"_Merlin_, I command you to look at me."

With a frustrated sigh, the warlock turned slightly to regard the prince. "Yes sire?" he asked rigidly.

"I want you to stay away from Brom Aurelianus."

"Why's that, Arthur?" challenged Merlin defiantly. He stood so that they were on even ground and looked the prince directly in the eye.

"Because I forbid you to," said Arthur, prowling towards his manservant with slow, sure steps. There was something in the other's tone that made the warlock suddenly nervous. Still, he stood his ground. The prince reached out and placed his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "Because he will hurt you...and...I don't think I could stand to see that."

"What are you saying, Arthur?" asked Merlin unsympathetically. "Just tell me."

Arthur didn't tell him but he instead crushed his lips to his manservant's with a sense of urgency that was staggering. The kiss was bruising in force, more a bid for dominance than something truly tender, but Merlin heard himself issue a desperate sound of need in the back of his throat, nonetheless. His hands flew up to tangle in those blonde locks as he had longed to do for some time now. He reveled in the soft texture of it.

Arthur pulled his manservant flush to him by his belt-loops, his fingers curling beneath the hem, damaged knuckles brushing soft skin. The warlock gasped into the prince's mouth, moaning when the other slipped his tongue past his lips. When Arthur drew back to regard Merlin, he had to admit that the manner in which his manservant's lips were swollen and reddened, was highly erotic.

"You are _mine_," he rumbled, taking the other boy's face in both of his hands, "not his." He dipped his mouth again to taste Merlin's, and stumbled back, confused, when his manservant pushed away from him.

The warlock stood, slightly out of breath, his body buzzing with a fervid yen. A look of clear disbelief was on his face. "You're doing this because of _him_? Because Brom was sniffing about what was _yours_? You're doing this because you don't want someone else to have your _possession_?"

Arthur stubbornly looked away, his jaw clenched. It was enough of an answer for Merlin, who, with the anger of someone who has been terribly wronged, for the second time that day walked away from his master.

***

Something woke him, he was sure of it. There was little other reason for Merlin to be awake in the middle of the night, still dead tired and drained from the events of that day. After he had left Arthur in the armory, he had busied himself with menial tasks around the castle, sweating out some of his anger and trying to sort out the jumble of emotions that twisted in Byzantine knots within him.

Dinner had been a relatively small affair; the grand feast was tomorrow night, where Ambrosius and Brom would receive a proper welcome. Still, the air had been ripe with tension and Merlin had felt like a scrap of meat that was being fought over by two jealous mongrels. It had worn him out, both physically and emotionally, and when Arthur had given him his leave he had collapsed onto his bed, clothes and all. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.

Which is why it was odd that he was awake now.

Disoriented, Merlin sat up groggily, and peered into the long shadows of his room, trying to identify what could possibly have stirred him awake. He froze, his blood cold in his veins, when he realized that somebody was sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Hello Merlin," said Brom congenially, "did I wake you?"

(To be continued...)


	5. Secrets Secrets Hurt Someone

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 5 – "Secrets Secrets Hurt Someone"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 3649**  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** This is a much darker fic than my other Merlin story I have going and might end up being longer as well. While it will be eventual Arthur/Merlin, the ride there is rife with bumps and obstacles, savvy?

**A/N 2:** Henceforth my warnings will be in full effect. A bit of Merlin!whump this chapter and we get a closer look at Brom. Enjoy!

**Chapter 5 - Secrets Secrets Hurt Someone**

***

"Hello," said Brom congenially, "did I wake you?"

The russet-haired lord watched with some amusement as the boy's eyes widened in shock and a flash of fear. Their colour was deeper in the darkness, like sapphires or the fathomless depths of the ocean at night. Brom had seen the ocean once on a trip to the Port of Rye with his father, and though he would never admit it to anyone who asked, the sea had terrified him. It was huge, a swash of salt, liquid, and life as far as the eye could see and well beyond even that. It was tempestuous as well; calm as a Brahman cow in one instant, only to be a wild as a maenad caught in the fever-pitch of her own madness, the next.

It was its own entity, a thing teeming with mysteries he would never understand and never know. It was something that couldn't be conquered or tamed.

As a rule, Brom hated anything he couldn't break or contain, and the sea and all of its leagues of infinite mystery, did not escape his antipathy. The need to control; the need to _subjugate_, was a force so strong within the noble that it overpowered compassion and restraint. Over time he had grown to enjoy the feeling of dominion over those he had broken, and he took great pleasure in the power that flooded him whenever he twisted some body's will to his own.

Sitting across from him the dead of night amidst rumpled linens, with his long legs drawn up and his back stiff against the headboard, was his next acquisition: _Merlin._

"Brom," said the warlock cautiously, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his palms, "what are you doing here? It's a little unorthodox and odd for a lord to be wandering around the servant's quarters." His voice, while still tinged with weariness, was canny.

The other man chuckled and his auburn locks shifted, dull in the shadows and the colour of dried blood.  
"Who is going to question me if I wish to walk the castle at night and stretch my legs?" he replied, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards to indicate his mirth. Merlin had to acquiesce to that; it was true. As a guest, as the son of Duke Aurelianus, nonetheless, there would be little that Brom _couldn't_ do within the walls of Camelot, short of murder and say, an open display of sorcery.

He was, after all, nobility, and nobility had more privileges than the rest. Ultimately it just meant they could get away with more and face little to no punishment, Merlin knew it. If Brom were to rape him right there in his own bed, he might just lie and say that Merlin had begged for it like a whore in heat. In the eyes of the court Brom's word would trump his, no matter what the real truth of the matter was.

The warlock blanched at a little at the idea and Brom grinned wider, as if sensing the trend of his thoughts.

"How did you get past Gaius?" questioned Merlin suddenly, pushing aside his own fear to worry over his mentor and friend. The other man leaned forward conspiratorally, the bed shifting with his weight.

"Stomach ailment," said Brom ambiguously. Merlin must have made a face because the other man just laughed, a rumbling, belly-deep laughter of true amusement. "I sent him a carafe of wine to show my gratitude for treating me earlier in the afternoon for a stomach ailment. I suppose your friend just doesn't know what wine spiked with mandragora tastes like."

"You drugged him?!" accused Merlin in a loud, upset voice. Panic laced his tone and he made as if to spring from the bed when Brom moved with cat-quick reflexes and caught him by the wrist. He wrenched the boy's arm behind his back and twisted up painfully, slamming him back onto the bed belly down. The warlock felt the other man's weight settle over him, pinning him to the mattress as he continued to twist his elbow upwards rather viciously. Merlin could feel the strength of him, muscle corded and hard beneath a lean build, and he knew that Brom could dislocate his shoulder as easily as he would snap off the arm of a doll.

"Settle down," hissed Brom into the manservant's ear, "I didn't hurt the physician. Mandragora-laced wine is used as a powerful anesthetic - he's merely going to have a good night's sleep; a very deep sleep, but only that."

Merlin could feel the magic begin to unwind in the apex of his being, ribbons of power reaching out to protect him. He almost let it; his eyes shifted golden (a slight burn behind the iris always accompanied the change) and he felt the power throb just beneath his skin. It sought release; and Merlin, with conscience effort, denied it.

It would not bode well for him to be discovered with an injured and unconscious lord in his bed, no matter what time of day it was.

"You're hurting me," said he instead, his voice muffled by the sheets. He was tempted to throw his weight backwards and unbalance the other man, but even as he considered it, Brom released him.

"My apologies," said Brom almost flippantly, drawing back though not nearly as far as the warlock would have liked. "I just couldn't have you making a ruckus over nothing, after all. I was hoping to..._converse_ with you without interruption." He resumed his languid perch at the edge of Merlin's bed, though the manservant knew better than to believe that the aristocrat was anything but at the ready. Brom was like a jack-in-the-box ready to spring at any given moment; and like as not when it was least expected.

"So all of this is because you wanted to have a conversation free of interruption?" asked Merlin in a mistrustful tone. Brom nodded, teeth gleaming white in the darkness.

"Well, not just conversation, I do admit," said the lord and Merlin barely had time to register what the other was alluding to, when Brom was upon him.

The warlock was slammed back into the headboard by sheer force, his arms pinned above his head and held in the noble's strong grip. Brom pressed a knee harshly into his groin and he grunted in pain, feeling bile rise in his throat when he felt the other man twitch and harden with interest against his thigh. _He took pleasure from this!_

Brom nestled his lips by Merlin's ear and his words slithered over him like the cold belly of a serpent. "I like you Merlin and I think we're going to have _a lot_ of fun together." He then crushed his mouth to his and kissed hard, his teeth biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Brom moaned and reached between them, slipping his hand past the waistline of Merlin's pants to take the boy's flaccid length in his palm. He squeezed hard and grinned against the other's mouth, drunk with taste of blood and the unique essence that was Merlin.

Fear stuck the warlock, driving out thought until only instinct remained. He felt the magic surge up through him as his eyes turned the color of liquid gold. Vaguely, he registered Brom's gasp of surprise. He pushed out with the energy just as the other man grabbed a fistful of his hair and smashed his head against the headboard with incredible force.

The world exploded into a star burst of color behind Merlin's eyes and then went black.

***

When Merlin came to, he was first aware of an acute throbbing pain that pulsed through his skull like the ebb and flow of the tide. He was muddled and disoriented; he couldn't hold onto a single thought for more than a few seconds before it slid away again. The back of his head felt wet and sticky.

He shifted and realized that he was standing, though he was bent over the desk in his room with his arms outstretched in front of him, wrists tied down to each corner. He tried to crane his head around but could do little more than lay either cheek upon the polished wood.

"Glad you're awake, little sorcerer. I was getting bored."

Merlin tried to answer and realized for the first time that he had been gagged with a old rag dipped in something pungent and foul-smelling. It tasted terrible and he choked on the flavor of it when he accidentally inhaled deeply; the fumes made him dizzy and bewildered, and a niggling part of his mind knew that this was the reason he remained in such a disoriented state.

He was able to regain a portion of his wits when Brom tugged the gag out of his mouth, though he only lowered the stinking cloth to his chin.

"I don't want you to pass out again," said the lord with galling sympathy, "that would hardly be any fun at all. I should really thank Gaius for having the mix for a soporific sponge handy in his quarters. Makes sense really; he is a physician after all."

Merlin only managed to orient himself enough to twist his neck slightly and glare, though his head was so fuzzy it sent a wave of nausea washing through him. His knees bent and his body sagged, and it was only his wrists lashed down to the desk that kept him from falling to the floor. The fumes made it impossible for the warlock to concentrate long enough to even think of using magic.

"I had time to think about things while you were unconscious," mused Brom as he came to stand in front of Merlin, who had to crane his neck uncomfortably to look at him. Even in his addled state, the warlock felt a surge of vindictive pleasure when he saw that Brom's shirt had been singed down to the skin. As the other man moved he could glimpse lightly tanned flesh of the other's chest. It appeared puckered and angry, though Brom didn't seem to be in any pain. Perhaps he was used to it; perhaps he _liked_ it.

"I've decided not to turn you over to the king," said the noble, "he would just execute you and that would be a pitiful waste of a perfectly good servant." Brom ran a finger around the outer rim of the sorcerer's ear and smiled when Merlin flinched away. He affected a look of offense and then laughed. "What's the matter? You were eager for it before." He leaned forward and bit down on the back of the boy's neck and sucked violently enough to leave a mark.

"You taste like secrets," he said with a grunt of satisfaction. "I'm sure Arthur would love to hear about the biggest one you've been keeping from him." The noble watched Merlin's face closely and smiled with a sense of achievement when he saw the fear and guilt flicker through those piercing blue eyes. "I won't turn you over to Uther and I will keep my knowledge of your _sorcery_ from Arthur." Brom removed a knife from his boot and in one smooth motion, sliced Merlin's shirt up the back. It fell in two pieces to either side of the boy, revealing his pale, unmarred back. "Of course," said the lord matter-of-factly, "there is a price for my silence."

Merlin's head shot up as far as it could go and he fought against his bonds with all of the strength he could muster. His revulsion was like a smelling salt that struggled to cut through the haze of his mind. He tried to bring the magic up but its response was as sluggish as his brain, and Brom shoved the gag back between his teeth. He held his breath but the aristocrat simply pinched his nostrils shut until he was forced to draw a deep lungful of air. He inhaled the anesthesia - hemlock, nightshade, and mandrake root, it tasted like - and slowly felt the fog creep back over his senses. He fought the relaxation of his limbs but they were beyond his control. When his body went slack Brom pulled the gag back out of his mouth.

"You think too much of yourself if you think _that_ is my price," sneered Brom. "Well," said he thoughtfully, "it's not all I require."

Merlin's mind was too hazy to even formulate a reply and his tongue felt like it was swollen from a bee-sting. At least it was that way until Brom began to carve into the flesh of his lower back just above his left flank, the tip of his knife tearing savagely through his skin. He began to scream and it sounded muted and faraway to his ears, which were ringing from the shock and agony that shot through his brain.

Brom took his time, carving over the same spot a few times until finally, etched into the bloody canvas of Merlin's skin, was a small heart. The blade he used was sharp and the lines were clean. The wound oozed with blood, bright against the sorcerer's alabaster skin. "Beautiful," whispered Brom and pressed his lips to the torn flesh, his mouth smeared dark red when he pulled away. He left a bloody kiss upon Merlin's cheek and then wiped the rest of the crimson fluid from his lips with the sleeve of his ruined shirt. Brom shifted; he was almost uncomfortably hard in his britches, but there would be plenty of time to take care of that. Later, sadly, and not tonight.

"Why?" croaked Merlin, the ache of his head competing outright with the acute burning of his lower back. He felt the warmth of his blood as the wound wept; to him, it seemed like his back was drenched in it. "What would you have me do?" No matter what Brom did to him, he knew he couldn't allow Uther Pendragon to learn of his secret. He would be banished or worse yet, killed; either way, he would be taken away from Arthur. He wouldn't be able to protect the prat and Arthur would never be able to fulfill his destiny.

Bearing Brom's abuse seemed a small price to pay if it meant that he could remain with his prince.

Brom unbuckled his belt and slid it from his waist, giving Merlin a wide, terrible smile when the sorcerer's eyes grew wide and round with terror. "No, we're not going to do _that_ yet!" said he in a deadly serious tone. He doubled up the belt and held it loosely in his hand, the thick leather strap swinging freely at his side. "I want you to help me win a bet against the dear prince. I want you to use your magic to ensure that I win against Arthur."

Merlin almost said no; how could he betray Arthur like that? Despite what had gone on between them, he was still loyal. It was still his destiny. "What bet?" he asked in a strangled voice. Brom only pressed the gag back to the sorcerer's mouth for a few moments, before pulling it away again. He shook his head.

"That's for me to know little sorcerer. Now swear to me you will do this and you will have my silence in return."

The warlock was at a crossroads between his secret and his destiny. He closed his eyes against the burn of his whittled, torn flesh and the against the ache between his temples. He tried to think through the soupy fog in his mind, the fumes of the anesthetic numbing everything so that he felt slow and stupid. He focused on one thing only: Arthur.

When he opened his eyes, he had made his decision. "I'll do it."

A cry escaped him when Brom dealt him a vicious blow with the belt, laying a perfect, red stripe across his shoulders. He crossed the first mark with another, and the sound of the belt slapping against the sorcerer's smooth back, echoed through the chamber. "Say it properly, _Merlin_" chided Brom, striking him with the belt once more in a precise, quick motion.

"I swear to it," gasped Merlin, the air forced from his lungs with each successive blow. The pain was cutting and he could feel the edges of the leather bite deeply into his flesh. Brom laid lash atop lash, whipping him with the belt until he could feel the strap cut into already sore flesh. The pain became a dull ache that filled every corner of his world.

Each time the belt fell, each time an angry weal was raised with a crack against his flesh, Merlin would repeat his vow.

"I swear to you, Brom Aurelianus, I swear to you."

***

He repeated this at least a dozen times before Brom seemed satisfied. The young lord ceased the whipping and untied the sorcerer from where he was bent over the desk. He caught the manservant before he slumped to the ground and guided him gently back to the bed, mindful of the abused flesh of his back.

Merlin moaned, half-unconscious and half-awake, his whole body aching with the recent abuse. He allowed himself to be laid upon his bed, face down, and winced as the welts on his back stretched. Brom had been careful not to flay his skin, but he stepped back to admire his work, nevertheless. By tomorrow the red marks would be a masterpiece of deep black and purple bruises; painful and tender, yes, but fatal, no.

The bruises would just serve as a reminder of the deal they had made tonight...and also serve as a warning against what could happen should the sorcerer choose to forswear on their agreement. The heart...Brom smiled as he traced a finger against the raw outline of the small shape he had carved into Merlin's flesh. Well _that_ had just been a personal touch.

The boy had been marked; he was _his_.

Merlin was barely aware of the door to his room opening and closing, then opening again, lost as he was to the hurt which had settled over him, gnawing at his nerve endings in relentless unison. He stifled a cry when he felt something cool pressed against his back, then sighed in relief as the ache of the welts was numbed and taken away.

"Shhh," said Brom from somewhere above him, "I'm cleaning your back. Your physician has a good ointment in his inventory. It will take away the sting of the wounds."

He should have protested it, he should have told Brom to leave him and let him stew in his misery; in his betrayal. But the relief was so great and such a benediction from the pain, that he allowed Brom tend to him.

When it was done Merlin didn't say thank you, but just closed his eyes when the other man sat him up and shrugged him into a clean shirt, doubtless to hide his injuries from Gaius should he check in on him. He held perfectly still when he felt the young lord placed a soft, chaste kiss upon his slack lips and then lay him back down, settling a pillow beneath his head; after he sponged the blood from his hair, of course.

It should have been Arthur doing this and Merlin knew it. But Arthur wasn't there. Arthur hadn't been there. He wondered if Arthur would even care.

"Rest well, little sorcerer," said Brom almost kindly, casting a glance around to make sure that the room was in order. It was still dark; he had an hour or so until dawn. "I think you know better than to tell anybody of what happened here." Merlin turned his head so he wouldn't see the other man's smirk.

Brom turned to leave and paused by the door, glancing back at the manservant, his teeth flashing once again in the darkness. "I had fun tonight, Merlin, I hope we can chat again soon."

With that he departed, stuffing Merlin's torn shirt into his jacket, which he threw on over his own ruined clothing. A souvenir, nothing more; a memento of a job well done.

(To be continued...)


	6. Scars

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 6 – "Scars"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 4215 **  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** I just wanted to address those who have been following this: THANK YOU so much for your positive support. It really means a lot to me to read your kind words and comments, and to know that you are as excited for the next chapters as I am. I hope I didn't turn any of you off with the Merlin!whumpage from the last chapter. I make no apologies for it and will even say that there will be more - and it will be decidedly more severe.

Still, if you give it a chance I hope that you can enjoy the story for its entirety. :) That said, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you guys think! ~ Lass

**A/N 2:** This is a much longer chapter than anticipated. Each time it seems like the details of the story grow around the words until I have so much down in one section it's hard to stop. I might have ended this earlier but I decided to end on a different note than I had planned.

**Previous Chapters**

Chapter 1 - "Between Duty and Destiny"  
Chapter 2 - "Eavesdropping Revelations"  
Chapter 3 - "Devil at the Door"  
Chapter 4 -"Battle Lines"  
Chapter 5 - "Secrets Secrets Hurt Someone"

**Chapter 6: Scars**

Arthur, despite how he might act when in the field or the night before a tournament battle, was a relatively heavy sleeper. He was also as grumpy as a bear unexpectedly roused from hibernation if startled awake, which was something that had caused his nursemaids and various servants equal parts amusement and grief in the past.

One of his nursemaids - his favorite from the time he was five - used to sing to him a little song to wake him. It was something he remembered fondly every now and then when he would lay swaddled in his sheets feeling very warm and comfortably drowsy.

_"Wake me up gently,  
Wake me up slow,  
Wake me up like a mellow love song,  
played on a bard's cello._

Though I never did like sudden starts,  
You know they hurt the eyes and break the heart,  
Wake me up gently,  
Wake me up slow."

Her voice had always been so quiet and gentle as it drifted through his room, infused with the same soothing warmth as the first ray of sun after a long, dark winter. A wave of nostalgia swept over him as Arthur lay curled into the warm spot of his bed. He felt himself begin to drift back into a restful slumber, and in fact must have because the next thing he knew the darkness was suddenly flooded with harsh light.

Arthur groaned and rolled over, trying to block out the explosion of dawn by pulling his covers over his head in a rather childish gesture. He waved a hand in the general direction of the intrusive sunlight and tried to slip back into the dream he had been having.

The dream, however, had been causing him a riot of conflicting emotion. It was hardly peaceable...though it wasn't _unpleasant_ per se; it was just plain odd. Still, when he closed his eyes he was right back there in the midst of it.

In the dream he had found a magnificent sword that had, for some reason, been cast into the depths of a vaguely familiar lake. Some part of him knew which lake it was; he was sure of it. However, try as he might he couldn't seem to place it. He struggled to remember but it was like trying to catch lightening in a bottle.

Arthur, with his eyes tightly shut and the covers still pulled up over his head, transitioned easily into the _other_ part of the dream; the part that was utterly ridiculous and thoroughly confusing.

_Merlin_, of all people, was a prominent feature of this little dreamscape. His manservant was standing in the middle of the lake on a giant clamshell of sorts, like some kind of seductive water nymph. He was embarrassingly naked and his limbs were smooth and long; his skin pearly in the light. In short, Merlin looked utterly ethereal.

Arthur thought it shameful that the feelings he felt stir at the sight of Merlin, planes of pale skin revealed and unhindered by even a single stitch of clothing, were not of the embarrassed ilk. They were quite the opposite, actually.

"Gods your beautiful," murmured Arthur, reaching out to this dream version of Merlin. It was okay in a dream; it was okay if it was just fantasy, after all. He his fingers longed to touch his  
manservant's skin and see if it was as soft as it looked; in his mind's eye it had a silky texture.

His own hand drifted down the hard muscle of his stomach, blunt nails scraping slightly over the hair that trailed from his navel in a southerly direction. He groaned as the tips of his fingers brushed the base of his rigid member. In his dream, Merlin whispered against his lips, his voice a kittenish rasp in the back of his throat. _Arthur_.

He'd be damned if he didn't almost explode in his pants right then and there. He moaned, thoroughly enjoying himself when he was interrupted by a loud, alarmed voice.

"M'lord! Good morn!"

Arthur was stirred from his morning's enjoyment quite suddenly and he became painfully aware of what he had been doing...and the fact that he was not as _alone_ in the room as he might have preferred.

"What is it, _Merlin_?" he grumbled irritably, releasing his throbbing manhood as he sat up and arranged himself into a more respectable position. He peered at the man in front of him; this was most certainly _not_ his manservant. "You're not Merlin," he stated bluntly, a hint of accusation in his tone.

The servant looked almost ashamed of this fact, as if it was his fault that he wasn't who the prince expected to see. 'Well,' thought Arthur petulantly, 'it _was_'.

"Forgive me, m'lord," said the sandy-haired lad with a quick bob of his head, his muddy brown eyes looking anywhere but at the prince, "but Merlin never showed up this morning to bring you your breakfast. Instead of serving m'lord late, the head cook told me to bring it instead."

At his words - Rommel, he thought the servant's name was - Arthur's head snapped around sharply. "Why didn't he show up?" he asked severely, trying hard to keep his voice level. He stared intently at the servant as if he could discern the answer in the light smattering of freckles across the lad's nose.

"I dunno, m'lord," said Rommel, ducking his head again. "He just didn't show."

It didn't make sense. Even if Merlin was mad at him he had never let it come in the way of his duty to Arthur before. Despite some of the personal issues between them, Merlin was _loyal_; almost exceedingly so. "Leave me," said the prince, rising from the bed and going over to his wardrobe.

He was surprised to find that he clothes for the day had already been laid out for him; Merlin generally took his time about it, fidgeting with each article of clothing before deciding on something _he_ liked; not Arthur. It was change to see it all done already, though he frowned at the hunting boots resting next to his neatly folded breeches. "Wait," he called, just as Rommel reached the door. "What am I doing today?"

The servant answered promptly, as if he had just been waiting to be asked that very question. "Falconing, m'lord," he answered, "with the King, Duke Aurelianus, and his son."

"You are dismissed," said Arthur with a nod of affirmation, though inwardly he groaned. Falconing was not one of his favorite activities by any stretch of the imagination, especially if it meant he had to spend an afternoon with Brom. His hands unconsciously curled into fists when he thought about the green-eyed lord.

By the time Arthur had gotten dressed and groomed for the day, he was in a black mood indeed. Before he had to go and meet with his father, Ambrosius, and Brom, he thought he'd go check on Merlin. After all, he should make the lazy boy accompany him on their outing. If _he_ had to suffer Brom's company, Merlin should too.

Two images flashed through his mind, then. The first was of his dream and Arthur could feel himself flush, despite his staunch denial. It was just a _dream_. The second was of the look in Brom's eyes when he had discovered him and his manservant in the orchard. The expression within the other man's eyes as he gazed upon Merlin was _hungry_. Brom had looked at his manservant like he had wanted to devour every last bit of him.

It made the prince furious all over again and he abruptly changed direction, heading away from the infirmary. He would give Merlin a day to himself if it meant that it would be a day spent away from the ravenous gaze of Brom Aurelianus.

***

Pain. Pain is what Merlin woke up to. Pain is what Merlin felt with every nerve that could feel it. He lay in bed, still in the same position that Brom had left him in and simply _hurt_.

His back ached in a way that dulled the senses and stole his thoughts when he tried to move. His skin felt raw, like the first layer had been scrubbed away with a steel brush. His shirt stuck to his back and he tried not to think of what an ordeal it would be to remove it. He thought about forgoing bathing today but knew he couldn't; Arthur would want him clean and ready for the banquet tonight.

_Arthur_. That was another problem. There was no way he would be able to perform his duties properly without raising suspicion. It hurt to even think about having to carry a meal to the prince or pick out his clothing, though admittedly, choosing Arthur's outfits was a guilty pleasure of his.

The warlock smiled slightly to himself then grimaced when he shifted. A frown settled onto his features when he thought of what Brom had made him promise to do: use his magic to help him win a bet against Arthur. He wanted him to use his magic to betray his prince.

That's what it came down to, ultimately. _Betrayal._ It made Merlin positively ill to think about it. What could have done _but_ agree? Nobody could learn of his secret, least of all Arthur or the king. He would be instantly put to death; Uther would surely make a fine example out of him. Maybe he would even mount his head on a pike and place it at the castle gates. _Behold! This is what happens to filthy sorcerers!_

Merlin would be no use to Arthur if he were dead. Even beaten black and blue was better than that, though as he tried to get up again, he questioned the validity of that thought.

He-he just couldn't do it. Somebody else would have to fetch the prince his breakfast this morning; the pain, compounded by his own misery, was just too much. Shutting his eyes as if the action would shut out the pain, Merlin bit his lip to keep from whimpering as he fell into a restless, uneasy sleep.

***

Someone was in his room, he was sure of it. Panic reached deep inside of him and Merlin shot up suddenly, his eyes wide, golden, and _terrified_. He lashed out; a book flew off of the shelf and hurtled towards the door with deadly accuracy.

Gaius sidestepped just in time. He looked at Merlin incredulously, one brow raised in his trademark expression. "Merlin calm down! It's just me." The old physician wondered what could have raised the sorcerer to such a state of panic that he would lash out with his magic so unthinkingly. It was dangerous; if he had been anyone else, Merlin would have been hauled off to the dungeons without a word.

The hysteria faded from the warlock's eyes as well as the golden tinge. He looked relieved for a moment as recognition flickered through his azure gaze, and then his eyes widened again, but this time it wasn't due to fear. It was due to agony.

Merlin moaned hoarsely, his body jerking as it contorted oddly. His limbs flailed wildly for a moment, like a marionette with broken strings, before he seemed to collapse all at once in a senseless heap.

He had momentarily passed out. Gaius, after he overcame his initial shock, felt worry pierce him through to the core. _Something was gravely wrong with Merlin_. From the manner in which the warlock was lying, the physician had a dreadful suspicion as to what it was.

Gaius moved to Merlin's side and carefully peeled up the boy's shirt, revealing his back. He couldn't quite stifle the horrified gasp that escaped him; what he saw was absolutely appalling.  
Merlin's back was a crosshatching of bruises and welts, laid out in a precise checkerboard pattern. Whoever had done this to him had known exactly what they were doing and had taken their time about it, too. He noticed a smear of old blood on the pillow and worked his fingers through Merlin's tangled hair until he felt a good-sized lump. His eyes drifted to a particularly inflamed patch of skin on the boy's lower back. Gaius felt sick when he saw that it was inflamed because of a heart-shape that had been carved into Merlin's flesh.

He peered more closely at the etching and frowned, deeply disturbed; whoever had done this had also _cleaned_ the warlock's wounds to prevent infection. It was puzzling and more than a little unsettling. Then Gaius felt a wave of anger wash through him as he shuffled out into his workspace to gather the necessary items to care for Merlin's wounds.

Who would do this to the boy? Who could whip him so badly and then tend to his injuries, right after?

Gaius had no answers but Merlin did, and he was determined to have them.

***

When Merlin finally woke once again, it was early evening. His head felt pleasantly tingly, as did his lips and his whole face, really. His tongue was numb and the pain of his back felt blunted, as if something had smoothed out the worst of it with gentle hands. Something was beneath his tongue and before he could spit it out to see what it was, he felt a rough palm beneath his chin push his jaw shut.

"Don't even think about it," said Gaius sternly. At Merlin's look of protest the old physician sighed. "It's a bit of willow bark if you must know. It's been know to relieve pain and reduce fever. Just don't become too reliant on it; too much of it can cause a nasty rash." The warlock nodded though he sucked harder at the bark in his mouth, enjoying the soothing effects despite the earthy flavor.

He shifted and blinked in surprise when he realized that his back didn't hurt nearly as much as it had hours earlier. He might be able to move normally enough to attend the banquet tonight and circumvent any suspicion from Arthur. "What did you do?" he asked Gaius.

The physician sat down on a stool by his bedside and gave Merlin a pointed look. "I rubbed an herbal paste made with the extract of a poppy plant across your back. It's a potent analgesic and should aid you through a speedier recovery."

Merlin nodded and a feeling of love for the physician swept through him that was so powerful, that he felt positively weepy. He averted his gaze and embarrassingly felt a few tears slide from the corners of his eyes, despite his play at stoicism. "Thank you, Gaius," he said in a shaky voice.

"I would do anything I could for you, my boy, you know that."

The pair lapsed into a companionable silence, giving each other the space of their private thoughts. It stretched on for awhile until Gaius cleared his throat; Merlin sighed, he knew it had to come, eventually.

"Please don't ask," he said in a quiet, earnest voice, "I won't answer you if you do." Though he spoke in a low tone, the warlock's words bore a hard edge of stubbornness. Gaius gave the boy a severe look; he had expected this. He had prepared for this. However, just as the physician opened his mouth to outline his argument, a voice bellowed from the main room.

"_MER_LIN!" It was Arthur. Merlin's eyes opened wide with a different sort of panic and he sat up quickly, wincing despite the numbing medicine, when his back reminded him angrily that he hadn't even begun to fully heal.

Before Gaius could get up and see to the prince, Arthur opened the door to Merlin's bedroom with some force; it was obvious that his goal had been to find his manservant. When the warlock saw what the blonde was wearing, he understood why immediately.

Arthur was dressed in one of his finer outfits, swathed in a rich, deep crimson that made him look both majestic and proud. A golden circlet rested upon his smooth brow and his hair was combed neatly, vibrant in the flickering light thrown by the torch on the wall. The sight of him made Merlin's heart constrict. The inside of his mouth felt barren of moisture and he had little doubt it _wasn't _because of the willow bark.

"A-Arthur," he stammered, his tongue in knots, "you look nice." He rose from the bed stiffly, careful to keep the evidence of his abuse away from the prince's discerning gaze. His did his best to not jostle his back and act as if nothing was wrong, all at once. Merlin paused when he saw that the prince was staring at his bare chest as if he had never seen skin before. He wondered after the pink spots that bloomed on the apples of the blonde's cheeks, before glancing away awkwardly, the tips of his ears a matching shade.

Arthur seemed to come back to himself after a moment, though he looked a bit like a man who had just returned from the deep recesses of his thoughts. He registered that his manservant had said something to him and grinned with his usual cocky attitude. "Of course I look nice Merlin," said he haughtily, folding his arms, "I _can_ dress myself despite what you might think." He smirked at the other boy, and then frowned when he saw him exchange a cautious glance with Gaius. He took a deep breath; this was never easy.

"Merlin," he said clearly and locked eyes with his manservant when he looked at him. They stayed like that for a long moment, long enough that Gaius departed after casting a significant look at the dark-haired boy. When the door closed behind the older man, Arthur continued. "I'm not going to discuss your absence today," he said haltingly, as if he had thought carefully about the words but was still unsure of exactly what he wanted to say. "I figured that after the way I have been acting these past few days..." He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable. Merlin was his servant, after all. There was no need for a _prince_ to make any apologies for his actions.

The thing was, Arthur felt compelled to do so. "I thought you might like a day to yourself. Which, I might add," continued he with a hint of a grin, "it seems you spent in bed."

Merlin had the grace to doleful, but he couldn't help the shadow of the smile that lurked around the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you, Arthur," he said in a quietly subdued tone. The memory of the night before flashed behind his lids when he shut his eyes for a second. He barely stopped himself from shivering when he remembered the promise he made to Brom...and the way the knife had felt like a cold burn as Brom cut into him. "I'm grateful for it. I had a poor night's sleep." He tried to smile at the prince but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Arthur noticed.

"What's wrong?" asked the blonde suddenly, the expression within his blue eyes decidedly leery. "Tell me." It was a command, not a question.

"Nothing," said Merlin, taking an automatic step backwards to put some distance between him and the prince. He stumbled clumsily when he backed into the stool that Gaius had brought and started to fall backwards. Arthur darted forward to catch him, slipping his arm behind his manservant's back.

Merlin cried out in pain, twisting away from him as he staggered to lean heavily against the dresser. He heard Arthur's sharp intake of breath as his back was revealed but ignored it for the moment, focusing on keeping himself standing. After a moment the world was set to rights and he felt as if he could face the prince. He turned and felt the color drain from his face.

Arthur's face was completely devoid of expression, his eyes like shards of ice; as hard and as cold. Normally, when the prince was angry he telegraphed that fact very well; the passion of his fury verily burned beneath his skin.

This...this was totally different. This was _terrifying_.

"Who did this to you?" asked Arthur softly, his voice flat and frigid. It sounded so unlike him, so cold, so chillingly _furious_ that it took Merlin a moment before he answered.

"It doesn't matter, Arthur," he said gravely, no trace of joking in his voice, "let it go. It's not worth the trouble."

Before he could blink, Arthur hard darted forward and taken his chin in his hand. He noticed that the prince's fingers were trembling though his voice, when he spoke, was even colder than before. "Yes," said the blonde, enunciating each word clearly, "it is. _You_ are worth _every bit of trouble_ it would be to beat the person who did this to you into nothing more than a crimson smear on the ground."

Arthur turned his manservant slightly to review the extent of the damage and became unnaturally still when he saw the heart carved into the skin of his lower back. He touched it with one finger and Merlin, who had craned his neck and was watching him carefully, saw something snap within the prince's eyes.

"Whatever you are planning to do," said the warlock quickly and urgently, "don't. Don't do this Arthur. Just leave it alone. I'll be fine - don't sully your hands on account of _me_."

The prince was already striding to the door, a look of inflexible determination on his face. His eyes, however, were still cold; still violent. He shrugged off Merlin's arm easily though he paused at the door. He spoke without looking at his manservant, but his words were low and harsh in the small room.

"You don't quite understand what I would do for you, do you?" Merlin thought his words sounded sad, even though they were wrapped in fury.

With that Arthur departed, his jaw locked and his stride brisk as he made his way with purpose through the castle corridors. He had one goal: _find Brom Aurelianus._ He had no proof it was him, of course, but he knew it without a doubt.

He knew, because on his the inner side of his right thigh, so faded it so was fairly non-existent, Arthur bore a scar in the same size and shape of the heart Merlin had carved into his back.

(To Be Continued...)


	7. The Bet

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 7 – "The Bet"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 3977 **  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! It means a lot - now I only hope to be able to keep up to the standard. ;) Kudos to anyone who picks up on the name of the stable boy - my vague nod toRPF.

**A/N 2:**Bloodplay, implied rape. This Chapter focuses mostly on Brom. I feel it's important to give some face time to the main antagonist, even if he is an OMC. This was a hard chapter for me to write and I'm not completely happy with it. But the story must go on, eh?

**Chapter 7: The Bet**

Brom preferred some blood with his bed sport.

It was something like a christening he supposed, a ritual if he had to put a word to it, though he had never put much stock in ritualistic habits. Really, he just _liked_ it.

He liked the way each thin incision would open the skin, the wound filling with red before spilling over. He liked the way blood traced paths over the body, how it dribbled down the stomach to pool in the navel; or perhaps how it flowed down the arm to collect in the crook of the elbow.

He liked the metallic taste of it, the warmth of it under his tongue and on his fingers.

Brom also appreciated the skin and the way it yielded beneath a dull blade before tearing. He too, was appreciative of the way it parted readily at the flick a keen edge. He enjoyed the smell of skin when it was slick with sweat, blood, and other fluids.

Pity that it wasn't a perfume he could bottle.

Brom enjoyed a bit of blood play in bed because he liked watching how cutting another brought out their basest instincts. The muscles stiffened and the skin quivered, almost _recoiling_ at the cold touch of sharp metal. The mind fought the pain while in some small part of everyone the body _welcomed_ it.

Mostly though, liked the control it gave him over another person. There was something harshly beautiful about dominating an entity outside of himself; manipulating them to his will. The feeling of having somebody's will completely in thrall to his own was nothing short of thrilling, though Brom generally kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Outwardly he might assume the guise of the careless son of Duke Aurelianus. Inwardly, however, his mind was compartmentalized; it was easy to separate the parts of himself and examine the details without the hindrance of emotion.

It was easy to control himself. It was easier to manipulate and govern others. Breaking a person, coaxing them into ceding complete control to him - either willingly or by brute force - was better than climax.

At those times Brom fancied that he laid the soul bare; that he saw the essence of that person. He thought he could _taste_ their soul; viscid, warm, and coppery.

It made him feel vital. It made him feel _something_ other than varying degrees of boredom. It excited him in a way that nothing else ever had and it made him feel _powerful_.

Brom looked at the young lad tied to the posts of his bed, wearing nothing but his own skin. An eager blush pinked his nipples and the tops of his cheeks in response to the air's cool kiss; though he squirmed slightly against the restraints, he was otherwise still.

The young lord drank in the sight of him, tied down and laid open for consumption.

The boy's skin was gently weathered from a life outdoors, tanned caramel from the sun. His hair was dark, though still too light to pretend it was black, and his features were sharp and angular. His eyes were unremarkable, a shade of brown that reminded him of a buck's hide. Of course,Brom hadn't chosen the lad for his looks. He had chosen him for one reason alone: _his neck_.

The lad - one of the stable boys - had a remarkably long neck. The sinews shifted and rolled beneath the skin seductively, and when he moved it curved gracefully. It reminded him of Merlin's neck.

The thought of the manservant and his smooth, slender body stirred Brom like an inferno had been lit deep in his loins. He craved the taste of him again and had obsessed over the stark artistry of the sorcerer so much that it would have driven him to distraction, had he less control.

"What was your name again?" asked Brom casually as he walked over to perch himself on the edge of the bed. He checked his knots; a mariner would be proud.

The boy answered, nervous excitement making his voice higher than usual. "Morgan Bradwardine, m'lord." He eyed the russet-haired lord with ill-disguised desire, already half-hard with anticipation. It wasn't everyday that a stable hand got to share a lord's bed, after all, though it was hardly unheard of.

Brom leaned forward and sucked lightly on Morgan's elegant throat, nipping sharply and eliciting a yelp of surprise from the lad. It dissolved a moment later into a small moan as Brom ran a hand experimentally over the other's tanned flank, pressing the tips of his fingers into the flesh around the boy's entrance. Morgan bucked and the aristocrat smiled against his neck; not untried, but definitely inexperienced.

He separated himself from Morgan and patted his cheek when the other protested the loss of contact with a small whimper. He rose and walked to the table and carefully removed his shirt. He hung it on the back of the chair and paused when he heard Morgan's sharp intake of breath; though he was thin, he was wiry, and his flesh was stretched taut over corded muscle, like the skin of a drum. Brom smiled and picked up a knife that he had set aside just for this interaction, and examined it in the light.

It was a polished blade, curved like an eagle's talon with a clean edge. It would slice through flesh like a knife through butter.

Brom glanced a Morgan and smiled when he saw that the stable boy was looking at him with apprehension now, a spike of fear within his brown eyes. "M'lord?" he ventured, hesitantly.

The aristocrat sauntered back to the bed and sat down again, leaning over the lad as he trailed the tip of the knife up from his navel to the collarbone. It left the barest trace; a mere scratch that was beaded with red in the places where he had pressed harder. Morgan quivered beneath him when he produced a length of blue cloth - a piece of Merlin's torn shirt from the previous night - and gagged him with it.

"Now remember," said Brom, slicing into the flesh below Morgan's navel, with a quick flick of his wrist, "if you go squealing to Uther Pendragon I will kill you. Can your family afford that?"

Morgan, whose eyes were now wide and scared, shook his head. "Good, then we have an understanding," Brom affirmed with a pleased smirk. He leaned down to the lad's ear and whispered in a low, assured voice, "Besides, nobody would believe a little tart like you who just wanted a quick rut with the Duke's son."

He stood to shrug out of his breeches and show that he was stiff and ready. "Shall we begin?"

***

The boy next to him was praying. Brom could pick out the words behind the gag, muffled and fervent. He pretended to sleep as he watched Morgan from beneath the veil of his lashes, feeling sated and indulgent, his distorted prayer like a soothing lullaby.

The young man's body looked as if it had been wrapped in red ribbons, and the trails of blood glistened in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. A thin layer of sweat coated Morgan's skin and his thighs were bowed outward, the muscles too tired to hold his knees shut. There was an awful mess between there, anyway, whereBrom had cut too deeply. It was red and sticky down to the lad's calves.

Well, it was mostly sticky. There were flakes of dried blood in the matted hair of Morgan's groin, crusted with other fluids; evidence of the violence of their coupling. The air was rank with sex and heady maleness, and woven underneath it all was a hint of copper. The smell drenched the skin and coated the nose, andBrom , shedding the pretense of sleep, stretched and reveled in it. He flicked out his tongue as if he could taste the sex on the air, like a hunting serpent. He then rolled over to taste the sweat and blood cooling on Morgan's skin.

He grinned when the boy jerked forcefully away from him, choking on his prayer. Brom tsked but chuckled and jumped out of the bed, unfurling languidly before going about his business as if Morgan were not even there.

He bathed in the small tub that had been filled some time before, uncaring that the previously hot water was cold. He scrubbed the evidence of his afternoon's activities from his skin and then rose, water rolling down the taut lines of his body in chilly rivulets.

Normally he would have had his manservant dress him, but Brom opted to do it himself; his room was a mess, after all. He chose a dark brown leggings and a cream-colored chemise. Over it he donned a forest greenbliaud embroidered with his family's crest, cinched with a wide belt.

He topped off the ensemble with a pair of soft doe-skin gloves and departed without a backwards glance at the stable boy still tied to his bed. He paused outside of the door and fixed his cuffs as he spoke to Bryce, his manservant on loan. "Clean that up, will you?" he said nonchalantly, waving a dismissive hand in the general direction of his room. Bryce simply nodded, wisely saying nothing when he peered in and spied the lad on the bed.

The lord Aurelianus had lined his pockets well enough to ensure that he kept his mouth shut on these matters, though he did feel a pang of sympathy when he saw the shallow cuts that scored Morgan's body; ruby ink on living parchment.

***

The banquet hall was a hub of activity. Servants were bustling about with some sense of chaotic order, finalizing the last of the preparations for the celebration that was not even hours away. Some of the lesser nobles had already arrived, keen on earning some face time with the king and his honored guests. They stood in the middle of the hall, wine goblets already filled, and exchanged banalities with the King and DukeAurelianus.

Ambrosius Aurelianus cut a severe figure next to Uther Pendragon, clad in blacks and greys, with the only color coming from the sash he wore; a dash of green across his chest, bearing his family's crest. He was balding at the temples, though wore the rest of his steel grey hair swept back into a neat tail. While his shoulders were broad they were rounded and hunched, indicative of a former warrior gone to seed.

The Duke had been a huge man of height and girth in his youth and though he stood a head taller than Uther, none would consider him the superior. Uther Pendragon wore his privilege well, and there was a hardness behind his blue eyes that spoke of one used to making the difficult decisions in life. They were the eyes of a king; commanding, cold, and confident.

It was little wonder that they had become comrades and later friends; their outlook on life was similar. Status and the hierarchy of power, was very important to them.

Just then, one of the serving lasses came flying through the double doors of the banquet looking agitated and a little frightened. She skittered to a halt in front of bothUther and Ambrosius, apron askew, and dipped into a deep curtsy.

"What is it?" asked Uther, cutting straight to the matter. Something was apparently wrong and he had no time for frivolities.

"Your Highness, it's the prince and the Duke's son," she began, suddenly hesitating. She looked timidly up at the two men, before bowing her head again. She stammered, all confidence withering under the their twin gazes.

"Just say it, girl!" snapped Ambrosius, his voice like the grumble of thunder in a gathering cloud.

The serving lass blushed and stumbled over her words in her haste to reply. "Fightin'...m'lord, they - they're fighting, m'lords!" she finally managed, shrinking back a bit when Uther stepped forward suddenly.

"_Who_ are they fighting?" he asked quickly, already wondering how many enemies could possibly be inside of Camelot's walls. The girl shook her head, loose tendrils of hair flying about her round face.

"Nay, your majesty," said she, "they're fighting _each other_."

Uther glanced at Ambrosius who nodded curtly and joined him as they strode from the hall, a procession of lesser nobles and his personal guards, following at their heels.

***

All of the frigid anger that had encased his thoughts and driven his feet to stalk the halls, vanished the minute Arthur laid eyes uponBrom . Instead, the prince found himself enraged to the point of seeing red, barely able to stop his legs from carrying him forward directly into young lord's path.

Brom of course, just grinned, arching a perfect brow as he gave a mock bow to the prince.

"Good evening Arthur, come to escort me to the banquet?" he asked with looking at the blonde slyly through his lashes. "My my," he sneered, "don't you look...tense. Need me to help pull that stick from your royal arse?"

Without quite thinking it through, Arthur let his fist fly. It connected with Brom's jaw with a satisfying thud. The aristocrat's head snapped violently to the side and he went down in a graceless heap.

Brom recovered quickly and rolled to his side, spitting a glob of reddish saliva as he did so. When he glanced up at Arthur, his grin was stained crimson. The young lord brushed back a loose strand of auburn hair with a finger, then probed the side of his face tenderly. He winced; that would be an ugly bruise in the morning.

"You have no control whatsoever, do you my prince?" he asked speculatively as he rose to his feet. "That's the difference between you and I." Although his tone was thick with derision there was a sharp note of excitement twined with his words; Arthur was sorely off balance and he wanted to know why. He wanted to know how he could use it to his advantage.

"Shut your foul mouth," growled Arthur, fists curled at his side, "I know what happened to Merlin and I know it was you." The fury within him felt like curdled milk on his tongue; it left a sour taste that made him want to spit in the other's face. "If you _ever_ touch him again, I'll kill you."

Brom's eyes widened in surprise but he concealed it quickly with a chuckle. Interesting; he hadn't expected Arthur to find out so quickly. He changed tactics. "Oh I see," he said in a quiet hiss, "you got my little note. I would have written it on parchment but you know," he shrugged in a show of indifference, "I had to make due with what I had available at the time. I think it was an effective medium, don't you agree? I'm not surprised you recognized it." Brom dropped his eyes pointedly to the prince's right thigh.

This time when Arthur hit him, Brom was expecting it. He rolled with the punch but still felt his bottom lip split open and his teeth rattle. He swallowed the taste of his blood, warmth trickling down his throat. Arthur was _enraged_. He smiled through the sting of his slashed lip and ache bruised face; the prince was too easy to manipulate.

Still, it was a good thing that Brom didn't mind a little pain.

Arthur could scarcely stop himself from kicking Brom when he was down, though he _did_ have some discipline despite what the other man said. He had honor, too.

The blonde hauled Brom up by the collar and brought his face close. His eyes were almost feverish, gleaming with the force of his emotion. "I will never forgive you for this," he advised grimly. "I am the Crown Prince," he said, "I doubt _your_ death would mean much in the long run."

Brom twisted his lips into an awful grimace; his teeth were stained red and his lower lip split wider. He spied serving lass over Arthur's left shoulder who had hesitated, uncertain of what was going on between the two. _Perfect._ "Do you love him Arthur Pendragon?" he challenged suddenly, green eyes locking with blue. "All _this_ for a servant...a death threat even! You _must_ be in love with Merlin!"

"Don't you _dare_ say his name!" threatened Arthur, but he released Brom and took a hasty step back. He looked a little unsure of himself, denial and the truth warring openly across his handsome features. "I don't love Merlin," he said unconvincingly, "not exactly." He eyed the young lord warily as the other wiped a dribble of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. Though his right eye was beginning to swell shut,Brom _still_ managed to look smug.

Behind the prince, the serving girl was beginning to edge away. Brom made one last play before his window of opportunity closed. "It's a good thing you don't love him, my prince, trust me," he simpered, and his words dripped like venom from his tongue, "that boy moans like a little whore when he ruts. But oh, he was good, Arthur, so _tight_."

This time when Arthur hit him he didn't stop.

Blood pounded in Brom's ears as the serving girl shrieked and ran down the hall. His laughter echoed her footsteps even as his blood splattered onto the ground in bright red drops. He laughed wildly until Arthur wrapped his fingers around his throat and squeezed the laughter from him.

Brom fought back tooth and claw at that point. He managed to jackknife a leg beneath him and used the leverage to unbalance Arthur, who had been kneeling on either side of his body with a solid grip on his neck. The lord gasped and sucked in a huge breath of hair, then, cat-quick, threw his elbow backward and broke the prince's nose. He followed up with a savage kick to the blonde's stomach, though it lacked the necessary power to do permanent damage.

Blood poured from Arthur's nose as he grappled with Brom who fell upon him with a wild-cat's fury, the two of them slipping in the crimson patches that stained the ground. He felt another blow land on his face and then another, and just as he had grasped a handful ofBrom's hair in his fingers, he felt multiple hands yanking them apart.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded a voice, terrible in its anger. _Uther._ Arthur turned and looked at his father, squinting through a fresh black eye. Nearby, Brom was being helped up by two of the guards and blonde was pleased to see that he looked worse for the wear.

"Who started this?" asked another voice. Arthur was going to answer when he realized that the question wasn't directed at him. He peered at the serving girl who stepped forward to answer Ambrosius's question.

"The prince did, m'lord," she said haltingly, not not looking towards Arthur.

Uther's face turned purple with outrage. He held up a hand when his son opened his mouth to explain. Instead the king turned towards Brom who was swaying unsteadily upon his feet, even with the support of the two guards. "I must offer my apologies for my son's behavior," he began diplomatically, "and I hope you and your father will accept my offer to extend your stay until you feel fit to travel."

Brom nodded mutely; his head felt heavy upon his neck. Ambrosius also inclined his head, though his thick brows were drawn down in thought. "Of course, your majesty, you are too kind to offer. I am curious, however, as to learn what the source of this...misunderstanding was?"

Arthur felt himself go still and tried to think up a quick response. His brain, however, felt like it was made of thick stew and somebody was stirring it with a spoon. Before he could answer, Brom did.

"It was over his manservant, _Merlin_," said Brom, his vocals bruised and words a bit slurred, "he didn't like how I disciplined the boy after he disrespected me." The prince fumed, feeling his anger wash over him again. Lies, all of it. Uther and Ambrosius only frowned deeply.

"If a servant disrespects a lord, he or she is to be punished for it," said Ambrosius seriously, looking at Uther. "That is only proper. My son was in his rights."

"Yes," agreed Uther, "he was. _My_ son has been too soft on his manservant. It was likely a good lesson for him to be had. Arthur shall be punished as well for his transgression againstBrom."

"Wait," said Brom, holding up a staying hand, "I want to make a bet with the prince." When Ambrosius and Uther looked at him in question, he bowed as much as he could towards the King. "To regain my honor and put this behind us, your Majesty," he explained magnanimously.

"Very noble of you," said Uther with approval, "Arthur shall accept."

"Father!" Arthur protested, dumbfounded by what he just heard. There was no sympathy in Uther's gaze, but the disappointment he saw there struck him like a physical blow.

"You dishonored not only our guests but _me_ in my own castle," said Uther in a solemn voice. "That _cannot_ go unacknowledged. You attacked our guest over what? A _servant_? That is simply disgraceful. This is a way for you to regain some of your pride and mine and you _will_ do as I command."

Before Arthur could say anything in response, his father had turned back to Brom. "What are your stakes, lord Aurelianus?"

Brom managed a smile though it looked even worse than before. He stared directly at the prince as he said, "I want your manservant, Merlin, for my own."


	8. Desperation in 'D' Minor

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 8 – "Desperation in 'D' Minor"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable non-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**non-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 3476 **

**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N:** A little something to soothe the wounds inflicted in the previous chapter.

**Chapter 8: Desperation in 'D' Minor **

***

Arthur wasn't sure when he had made his way back to his room, but somehow he found himself there, staring into a goblet of wine with his brow marred as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. His face hurt; one side was swollen and his ribs ached in such a manner that he knew they were bruised.

Brom had fared worse, that was certain, and Arthur felt a dark thread of pleasure weave through him at the thought. He didn't regret what he had done; nor would he. In fact he would do it again, though he chose not to think of the reason why.

Still, Brom's words echoed in his ears ominously: _"I want your manservant, Merlin, for my own."_ Each time he thought of them; each time he saw the aristocrat's face grinning with his split, bloodied lips his mind's eye, the prince felt a wave of desperation hit him with a force that was staggering. It made his hands shake and a knot form in his chest that almost _hurt_, like somebody had placed a ball of ice around his heart.

Of all the things to be at stake, it had to be _Merlin_. It had to be his manservant; his clumsy, stubborn manservant. It had to be the one thing that he couldn't bear losing lest he lose some part of himself.

Arthur jerked back from the revelation with a physical twitch, the wine sloshing over the rim of the goblet as his hands began to tremble violently. When had Merlin become so important to him?

"I think you're supposed to drink that, you know," said a voice from behind him. The prince stiffened with surprise and turned quickly, spilling more wine onto floor. He looked at Merlin as he walked towards him, his movements slow and ponderous as if each step pained him. The crease in his brow deepened.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" he asked irritably, though the bite of his words was softened by the flash of concern in his eyes. "And I've told you to knock." He glared at his manservant though the effect was greatly diminished by the swelling of his face.

Merlin lagged over to him, his eyes sweeping over the bruises and cuts on Arthur's face. He sucked in a breath as he noted a deeper cut over the other's right eye; that would have to be treated immediately. "I heard about the fight," he said quietly, "and came to check on you myself. You, well," the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, "you look terrible." He pointed to a chair, "Now sit and let me tend to you."

Arthur managed to keep from rolling his eyes, though he did frown a bit. He winced when his face protested the motion with a helpful twinge of pain. "News certainly travels fast," he muttered cynically, but submitted to Merlin's request and sunk into the chair without protest. He tilted his face up when the other settled his fingers beneath his chin and applied gentle pressure. He sucked in a sharp breath but otherwise stayed still. Briefly, theblonde wondered if he was running a fever; Merlin's finger's felt unusually warm against his face. "I would have gone down to see Gaius," he said to break the tension that coiled within him, too aware of how close his manservant's face was to his own.

"No, you wouldn't have," replied Merlin in a soft murmur, concentrating on cleaning the cut above Arthur's eye. The tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips as he meticulously cleaned every abrasion with a wet clothe. "You're too stubborn. Gaius planned on coming up as soon as we heard, but I offered to go instead." He met the prince's eyes and realized how near he had drawn. A flush swept up from his neck and he pulled back suddenly, hissing in pain as the abused flesh of his back stretched and pulled.

Arthur reached out and wrapped his fingers around his manservant's wrists to prevent him from pulling back any further. "_You_ didn't have to come," he said sternly, "you'll be useless to me if you don't get rest and recover from..." he trailed off abruptly, a dark expression settling over his features. He recalled Brom's words yet again and felt his knuckles whiten in anger.

"Arthur," said Merlin sharply, "you're hurting me."

The prince realized he was squeezing the other's wrist like a vice and released him immediately. He managed to look apologetic though anger still burned in his eyes. "Merlin," he said, the syllables of the other's name collecting on his tongue before sliding from his mouth, "do you ever wish that you were rid of me?"

Merlin looked at Arthur as if he had just asked him if he would chop off his own foot for the prince's amusement. He was perplexed, but there was a note of seriousness within the blonde's voice that made him think Arthur was asking something else entirely. He answered carefully, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he picked through the turmoil of his thoughts. "Sometimes you're a real prat," he began, darting out a hand to rest upon Arthur's, staying the other's protest, "but despite that I know you're really just a person whose kindness is deeper than you even know. _I've_ seen that. I know you'll make a great king one day and that the people will love you and honor you." He glanced away and focused on his hand atop the prince's, afraid to move lest he lose this moment. "I stay...and I'm happy to stay...because of those reasons."

It took a moment for Arthur to digest Merlin's words, made harder by the warmth of the other's hand over his own. He should move it, it was improper, but he couldn't bring himself to; not yet. He felt like he should be embarrassed or humbled, even prideful, but he could only feel his earlier distress settle back over him, heavier than before. "Is that all?" he whispered.

"What?" asked Merlin, snatching his hand back quickly. He stared at Arthur disbelievingly. "What do you mean, _is that all_?"

Arthur cursed inwardly; he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I mean," he said gruffly, hiding his folly with the usual braggadocio, "it's not because you enjoy my company?" The question sounded absurd even to him. He fully expected Merlin to storm from the room in a huff.

"You know the answer to that."

The prince looked at his manservant, stunned. "Pardon?"

Merlin looked away from him, the lines of his long neck tense with his agitation. His jaw was tight as he spoke and he bit off each word as he forced them between his teeth. "You know how I feel about you, Arthur. Nothing will change that." The warlock continued to stare fixedly at a spot on the table when he felt the prince's fingers settle onto his shoulder. He yanked back stubbornly, his face contorting as pain radiated from his back. "Why did you fight Brom?" he asked, still refusing to look at him.

"That's none of your concern," replied Arthur coldly, withdrawing his hand. He folded his arms across his chest and swallowed past the tightness in his throat. Instead he studied his manservant, trying not to remember the way his mouth had felt under his own. He shut his eyes and heard Brom's cruel voice in his ears, _"But oh, he was good, Arthur, so tight."_

"Was it because of me?"

Arthur's eyes flew open and he saw that Merlin was staring at him with a sort of determination and intensity he had never seen there. He was caught off guard by it and yielded the answer before he could stop himself. "Yes," he stated. "And I would do it again, too."

His admission hung on the air for several long minutes and the space between them hummed as if it ran a current. Then, all at once, Merlin's mouth was upon his, needy and demanding; hungry like a man who hasn't eaten for days. Arthur felt something spike within him: lust; pure, complicated, and _consuming_. He opened his mouth beneath his manservant's and took a long taste of him with his tongue.

Merlin made a noise halfway between a gasp of pain and a groan of want when Arthur pulled him down into his lap, but ignored the protest of his abused back when the prince deepened their kiss. His whole body buzzed, his skin flushed with the intensity of his desire. It felt like liquid fire had fused his mouth to Arthur's and the flavor of him boiled through his veins. His tongue pushed against the prince's, vying for dominance until the blonde twisted his fingers in his hair and tugged. Merlin let out a long moan, pain and pleasure mingling and shooting straight to his groin. He rubbed against Arthur, somehow managing to get his legs on either side of the prince's body.

The prince suppressed a groan as he felt Merlin writhe on his lap, his heart thudding so hard in his chest that he thought it might explode. He felt light-headed, as if each long, wet kiss was siphoning the oxygen from his brain. He was trembling as the scent of _Merlin_ filled his nose and the taste of him rolled down his tongue and trickled down the back of his throat. He was hard and throbbing in his breeches and knew he wanted more; no, he _needed_ more. He needed skin.

Arthur pulled back from the kiss with a strangled noise, his swollen face aching though it was nothing compared to the ache of his cock. He rested his forehead against Merlin's, his hair damp with sweat, skin moist as he burned with arousal. His manservant turned his head and nibbled on his ear, before laying a small kiss gently on his jaw, just below the ugly bruise that marred the side of his face. "Gods Arthur," he panted, his voice breathless and thick with lust,"I want you."

Arthur's control snapped and he stood, lifting Merlin with him; though they were roughly the same height, years of training had made the prince strong. Besides, nothing was going to stop him from burying himself in his manservant right _now_.

Well, almost nothing it turned out.

Merlin yowled in pain when Arthur roughly tossed him down onto his bed and settled his weight between his legs, pressing against him forcibly. Tears welled in his eyes as his back erupted into fire, the pain stealing all sense of his desire from him. Arthur drew back, confused at first, then guilty when realization dawned on him.

"Oh gods Merlin, I forgot," he said, appalled with himself. He grabbed his manservant's hips and rolled them so that their positions were reversed. He looked up at the other, his eyes full of apology and shame. The prince gently wiped the moisture from the corners of Merlin's eyes with thumbs, marveling at how _blue_ they were. "Did I hurt you badly?" he asked, concern heavy in his tone.

Merlin nodded but bit his lip and shut his eyes, waiting for the burning ache to subside. Below him, Arthur was quiet, giving him his time, still except for the rise and fall of his chest. Eventually, the pain diminished enough so that he could think again, and when he opened his eyes he realized in full their position. He was lying flush atop of the prince, his legs between Arthur's knees, hips pressed down against the blonde's hardness that hadn't diminished. Merlin immediately felt a dizzying wave of yearning ricochet through his bloodstream.

He brought his mouth down and was pleased when Arthur tilted his chin up and offered him his own. It was so hot in the room, lying there against the prince, that his skin broke out in a sheen of sweat, the smell mingling with the tang of arousal. He experimentally rolled his hips and felt himself go immediately hard when Arthur responded with a low, guttural growl.

With some effort, Merlin broke the connection of their mouths, his tongue sliding against Arthur's in a slippery tangle before disengaging. He sat back and looked down at the prince below him, blonde hair disheveled, lips full and reddened by the intensity of their kisses. His cheeks had achieved high color and his eyes were dark with want. "Take off your shirt," demanded Merlin in the most commanding tone he could muster. He bit the inside of his cheek; he was taking a real gamble here.

Turned out he gambled correctly.

Arthur's brows rose minutely but his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost black. His breath hitched and he obeyed wordlessly, trembling fingers plucking at his clothing, almost fumbling over the buttons and ties in his haste to comply. Nothing had ever turned him on more than hearing _Merlin_ be so commanding, his tone firm and authoritative. He was,after all, a good knight and could no more ignore such authority than a trained dog could ignore his master.

After a moment longer of struggle, Arthur finally got his shirt open and shrugged out of it, until he was bare-chested lying beneath Merlin. He watched his manservant closely and smirked slightly when he saw his gaze go dark as his eyes drank in every inch exposed to him. The smirk was wiped right off of his bruised face, however, when Merlin began to explore every curve, every hard line of his torso with gentle fingers. He dropped his head back, exposing his throat when the other began to kiss every bit of him with soft, feather-light grazes of his lips.

It was so tender, so _evocative_, that Arthur felt his lust replaced with something else entirely. He couldn't help but think of Brom's words and felt the distress begin to return. He quelled it with a desperate, heated kiss.

Merlin sensed the change in Arthur and kissed back, feeling the other's desperation wash over him and through him. He kissed him deeply and gave himself over entirely.

***

Sometime later as Merlin lay on his stomach near Arthur who was turned towards him, his chin resting somewhere near his shoulder, a thought occurred to him. "Arthur," he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped them, "the girl who came to tell me andGaius about the fight said that there was something else that happened. She wouldn't tell me what it was, said I should ask you." He shifted slightly to regard Arthur who glanced away uncomfortably.

"It was nothing, really," he replied carefully, studying the pattern of his sheets intently, "he just wanted to make a bet with me to, as he put it, _'To regain my honor and put this behind us.'_" He shook his head and rolled onto his back, staring up at the canopy above his bed. "It's just a lie," he muttered darkly, "Brom just wants to try and humiliate me as I did him."

Next to him, Merlin went cold as the blood drained from his face. He suddenly felt sick. "What kind of bet?" he asked in a strained, distant voice. Arthur turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing at the misery he saw etched into his manservant's eyes. He scowled; he had hoped to spare Merlin any involvement with this.

"It's nothing to worry about," said he firmly, "Brom just wants a contest of skills though he didn't say exactly what that would entail." He left it at that, hoping that Merlin would let it be. Of course, the other boy didn't.

"And you agreed to it?" asked Merlin, his voice growing bleaker with each passing minute. He prayed that Arthur had refused; he could avoid betraying him if he just had the sense to refuse.

"I couldn't," replied the prince with some disgust, "my father and Duke Ambrosius were there to witness his challenge. It would have been dishonorable of me to refuse him." He left out the part about Uther accepting the challenge for him. He tried to grin but couldn't manage it. Besides, it hurt his face. "Like I said, Merlin, don't worry about it. I can best Brom at any challenge he gives me."

Merlin looked at Arthur, so self-assured, so confident, and felt a part of him break. "Brom's a sorcerer," he blurted, desperation making his voice crack. He willed Arthur to believe him but of course the blonde just gave him a stern look.

"Don't even joke about that," said the prince in a humourless tone, "accusing someone of being a sorcerer is serious. Every one of them, even if they _are_ a noble, are to be put to death. No exceptions, that's the law." Arthur expression lightened and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Besides, Brom's clever but he's not clever enough to be a sorcerer." He chuckled a bit, the sound rich in the area between their two bodies. "It's as absurd as if you had told me _you_ were one!"

"Yeah," said Merlin, his eyes hopeless and his voice empty, "I suppose it would be." He turned his face away from Arthur so he wouldn't see the misery that twisted his expression. He rose from the bed slowly, avoiding the question in the prince's eyes as he did so. "I should be getting back," he said softly, "Gaius will be worried. Since, you know." Arthur nodded and sat up, already feeling the loss of his manservant's warmth next to him. He was concerned by Merlin's tone.

He couldn't believe he was going to ask this. "Did I say something?" he asked, deliberately rising and put his body between his the other and the door. "Tell me what's wrong." He gripped Merlin's shoulders, looking closely into his eyes. Inwardly, he recoiled at the hopelessness reflected in them.

"It's nothing Arthur," said Merlin, knowing he had to get out of the room or risk saying something he couldn't take back, "I just have to go." He leaned up and placed a small kiss on the prince's lips, which turned into a much longer one as Arthur crushed his mouth to his.

"Stay," said the prince.

"Not tonight," said the warlock.

Merlin pushed past the other and walked slowly to the door, each step jarring his injured back. He paused at the door, his hand hovering above the handle. "Did...did Brom say anything more about the bet?" he asked, glancing back at Arthur.

"Just that he wanted something of mine should he win," replied the prince, his words clipped. "Not that he's going to."

"Did he say what?" asked Merlin. He looked hard at Arthur when the other glanced away for a moment, before locking gazes with him. When he replied, his words were steady and unflinching.

"No, he didn't."

Merlin nodded and said quietly, "Goodnight."

***

Halfway back to his room Merlin felt his legs go weak and he collapsed to a sitting position on the stairway. He was shaking badly, though he wasn't sure exactly why. All he knew for certain was that Arthur had lied to him; he had seen it in the prince's face.

What he wanted to know now, was why. What had Brom asked for that would make Arthur outright deceive him when asked?

For that he had no answers.

(To be continued...)


	9. Author's Note: Story Banner

My Dearest Readers,

If anybody is interested, I've made a banner for this story for where I host it on my Livejournal account. I thought I'd share it with you guys because it shows who I picked as my representation for Brom. Tell me what you guys think and I hope you like it. Because REFUSES to put a link on this page for me, I will update my profile and put the link there. :)

I also just want to take a moment to say how much I appreciate your comments and reviews as this story progresses. It really keeps up my motivation to write and complete this tale, which looks like it will be longer than I originally expected.

So thank you! It's awesome to know that there are people who appreciate the time an author has put into a piece of writing; fanfiction or not.

Thank you and mega-glomps all around,

Lass


	10. Doubt in the Devil's Kiss

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 9 – "Doubt in the Devil's Kiss"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to the Season Finale, just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**dub-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 4164 **

**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N**: So this took me a very long time to update! I apologize for the delay. I needed to get some things done for the SPN fandom which I did and I feel pretty okay about. I'm changing the warning to dub-con. I realized that there are fine lines to be blurred here and that there might be some repercussions with a non-con rating that I'm unprepared to deal with in this fic. Still...it could go back to it. I've grappling with that decsion but I'm not ready to make it yet.

**A/N**: I'll be with no internet connection starting tomorrow, so I'll respond to any comments I get over the weekend when I get back on Monday. New chapter will be up sometime next week. See you guys then!

If you read this, please review!

Chapter 9: Doubt in the Devil's Kiss

Brom, over the next two weeks, had healed well. The swelling of his face had all but disappeared, and the black and blue bruising of his skin had faded to a sickly yellowish color. The split in his bottom lip had almost closed; Merlin, however, still thought it looked downright painful.

He winced a little when the young lord smiled at him encouragingly from across the table, pushing the bowl of soup a little closer to the sorcerer with two fingers. Merlin couldn't help but notice the scabs on his knuckles from where he had hit Arthur, and he tried his best(and failed) to keep his expression neutral.

Brom only chuckled throatily and gestured again to the soup. "Eat," he said in a quiet and commanding tone, his voice the subtle rasp of silk over iron. Merlin, who was rather unsure of what he was doing there, sequestered comfortably in Brom's quarters and having a simple lunch, looked skeptically at the bowl. There was a slight crease between his eyes and his nose scrunched a bit as he took a tentative sniff of the liquid, uncomfortably aware of Brom's scrutiny.

It certainly didn't _smell_ like poison. In fact, it smelled delicious. Against his will, he began to salivate, just a little bit.

Brom shook his head slightly and leaned forward, flecks of gold standing out in his green eyes as they caught the light of the afternoon sun. He plucked Merlin's spoon from the bowl, dipped it in the hot soup, and then spooned it carefully into his mouth. He made an exaggerated noise of delight, which Merlin found curiously lewd given the circumstances, and placed the utensil back into the bowl.

"Just like mother used to make it," he said, and the warlock was startled by the note of sincerity within the other's voice. He picked up the spoon and brought it to his lips and took a tentative taste of the broth. It was _good_. It...it reminded him of Ealdor, of childhood, of _his_ mother.

Merlin put the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter and sat back. He gave Brom a long look, his blue eyes searching for some indication of what all _this_ was. Seeing nothing except offhanded interest on the aristocrat's fine features, he finally succumbed to curiousity and asked.

"Why am I here, m'lord?" He worked to keep his voice steady, though a note of tired wariness managed to creep in. He couldn't help but be on edge when the young lord was this close to him; he remembered too clearly what could happen in this man's proximity. Though Brom had left him and Arthur well enough alone for the better part of two weeks, the invitation for lunch had been entirely unexpected.

The aristocrat mirrored the sorcerer's position, but where Merlin sat stiffly, Brom slouched against the back of his chair. He gave him another painful-looking twist of his lips, and drummed his short fingernails on the tabletop. "I just wanted to see you, that's all," he replied with a slow, nonchalant shrug. It was the type of shrug that Merlin could never hope to accomplish. It was a shrug that spoke volumes. It was a shrug that said, '_I could pounce at any moment, you know.'_ The young lord rubbed his right thumb into his left hand absently, much like Arthur did on a cold day.

"I find that hard to believe," said Merlin after a moment, with a note of reckless challenge. He eyed the door to his left and sighed; he might make it there but Brom had given the guards outside strict orders not to let him leave until the lord gave the okay. Ever since the incident with Arthur, the king had ordered his staff to cater to, "Lord Aurelianus' every whim."

He picked up his spoon sullenly and ate a little more. He tried not look like he was enjoying it, _too_ much.

Brom didn't smile this time, but he watched the manner in which Merlin's lips curled over the spoon with rapt interest. "I think we got out to a bad start, you and I," said he, eventually, "and I'd like to start over." He rose and walked around the table to the other side and placed a hand lightly on Merlin's shoulder. He stroked his thumb over the skin of the manservant's neck, just under the blue hankerchief. He leaned down and settled his lips very near the other's ear. "After all, Arthur proved to me just how special he thinks you are. I've had men want to fight me over their daughters soiled innocence or their son's ruined virtue, but never over a _servant_. That's unheard of."

Merlin tried not to fidget, but he was having a hard time of it. Brom's presence was heavy at his side, and it seemed to smother him like some nefarious ooze that slipped into the cracks of his skin. He tightened his grip on the spoon and resolutely ate another bite of soup. Brom's chuckle was silky in his ear, and it made made the warlock's skin crawl, mostly because it _wasn't_ unpleasant.

"So tell me Merlin," Brom murmured, dropping his mouth lightly to that deliciously long neck, "want to start over? Get to know eachother a little better? I can be _real_ nice...and I have the feeling that as confidants we'll be spending a lot together, sooner than you think."

Brom's lips were too hot against his skin. When the sorcerer felt the gentle scrape of teeth, however, he scrambled up, his heart beating erratically. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have come, even though he had had little choice in denying the young lord's invitation. Brom had of course, had asked for his company for lunch in front of Uther Pendragon. Arthur was down on the practice fields training his knights, leaving Merlin with his hands tied. It would have been suicide to decline it.

"Look, m'lord - " began Merlin.

"- call me Brom," said the russet-haired man, mildly.

"_Brom_," amended the warlock, the name sloughing awkwardly off of his tongue, "I don't want anything to do with you, especially not like _that_." He edged away as Brom prowled closer, though the aristocrat paused instantly when Merlin's eyes turn golden. The warning was clear: _Stay away._ "I'll help you," he said clearly, "because you know my secret. But I will never betray Arthur like _that_."

"Oh ho is that right?" replied Brom softly, his eyes lighting up with a curious glint. "I think," he mused, "that I will be able to convince you. I even suspect I might be able to before the actual bet - what do you think?"

Merlin shook his head and the gold colour faded from his gaze. He felt a nervous energy sweep through him at the mention of "the bet". He swallowed, opened his mouth, and before he could think about it, blurted, "What _is_ the bet?"

Brom was clearly surprised. His expression was openly assessive as he gave the other a hard, long look. And then, incredulously, he laughed. It was open and genuine, and Merlin was annoyed to discover that it wasn't at all sinister. "So Arthur hasn't even told you?" Brom finally managed, when he had stopped laughing enough to catch his breath.

"No," replied Merlin churlishly. He watched the young lord with a mix of caution and irritation, though oddly, he also felt hot and flushed with nervous excitement.

"Sit," said Brom, pointing to the chair, "and I'll tell you." He smiled thinly at the sorcerer, the corners of his mouth edging up further when the other complied, albeit hesitantly. He dropped his hands lightly to Merlin's slender shoulders, his fingers curling gently to hold the other in place when he made to move. "No," he chided airly, "stay." His fingers tightened when the manservant tried to twist from his grip, clamping down painfully.

The lord's grip was like a vice and his thumbs dug deeply into his flesh unkindly. Merlin bit back a hiss of pain but ceased his efforts, nevertheless. "Good," said Brom after a moment, "you are quite quick, Merlin. Very smart." He relinquished his grip entirely, and the warlock couldn't help the sigh of relief that crept out of him. "The bet I made with Arthur involves a hunt, because we both know how much the prince enjoys hunting. Personally, I find the sport tedious, but I happen to be quite good with the bow if I really must partake in the activity."

Brom ran his fingers through his hair and Merlin endured it without flinching away. He wanted to hear what the young lord had to say. He could suffer his touch if it meant he would finally figure out what this whole mysterious bet was about. After all, and though he had asked numerous times, _Arthur_ wasn't forthcoming with the information. Oddly enough, neither were any of the castle staff. "Is that so m'lor-- umm, Brom?" he asked in a rush, his scalp tingling where the aritocrat's fingers worked their way through his dark locks.

"Yes," said the other with a hint of a sneer, "That is so. Can you guess what we are hunting?"

When Merlin didn't answer right away, Brom fisted his hands in his hand in those dark strands and tugged hard, forcing the warlock's head back until he was looking up into the young lord's face. "I asked you a question, Merlin," said he pleasantly. He leaned forward until his lips were a nearly over the other's, giving the sorcerer a good view of his throat. "You must answer promptly when a lord asks something of you." Brom sighed, his breath sultry against Merlin's mouth. "You'll learn in time," he said cryptically. "I'll train you well."

Of course he didn't waste the opportunity to lay a burning kiss upon Merlin's hot little mouth; harsh, rough, and aggressive, as he sucked the boy's bottom lip between his teeth.

The warlock pushed away with a muffled noise of keen displeasure, and the aristocrat released him without a struggle. Merlin wiped his sleeve across his lips violently, though they still burned from the contact.

"What are you going on about?" spat the warlock. "I don't know what the bloody hell you'll be hunting. Knowing Arthur it's probably a unicorn."

Brom was untroubled by the rejection; in fact he expected it. What interested him more was that the manservant had let him get that close in the first place. "You must really want to know the details of this bet," he purred, dropping lightly into the now unoccupied chair. He dipped his chin. "I acquiesce. We will be hunting a white hart. First one to kill it and bring it back to Camelot wins the prize."

Merlin could feel a sudden heat rise in him as his pulse quickened. A feeling of dread wormed through his veins as he asked, "What's the prize?"

Brom only shrugged in response. "That's something you should ask our dearest prince," he replied indifferently. "While I simply would love to tell you, I have the feeling that it's not my place." He smiled at the sorcererer, cat-like and cruel.

The fight ebbed from Merlin at the lord's reply, and his whole body seemed to slump, like some unseen hand had just lashed a steel weight across his shoulders. He glanced away from the other man and worried his bottom lip, aware that he could still taste Brom in the corners of his mouth. "Arthur refuses to tell me that," he said quietly, a note of defeat in his tone. "And so does everybody else."

"I'm sure we could work something out," said Brom as he rose from the chair. He instead perched himself at the edge of the table. "I need you to help me win this bet and you need me to keep your secret, but you also want information I have. What can you give me that will be fair trade for what I know?" His green eyes were bright beneath the suggestive arch of his auburn brows.

Merlin felt sick, though it was not due to Brom's unspoken suggestion. It was because he was giving it serious consideration. "I can find out another way," he said dubiously.

"If you believe that," replied Brom mildly, "then you may go."

Merlin _wasn't_ sure, however.

The last couple of weeks had been anything but easy between he and Arthur. In fact, they had been rife with arguments and half-said truths, which always led to Merlin on his back while Arthur ravaged his mouth urgently. While that part wasn't all bad, it left a lot to be desired when it came to making any meaningful headway in their relationship. Throughout it all, Arthur had been stubbornly avoiding any talk about the bet between he and Brom, despite how much Merlin had brought it up. He would look away, his jaw tightening in agitation, and say, "It's nothing that concerns you, _Mer_lin. And I don't need to answer you." Afterwards he would send the warlock on some menial task that would take up a lot of time and accomplish little.

It left Merlin wanting for more. It hurt him, especially because Arthur would never say what he wanted when he told him that he loved him. All the prince would reply was, "I know," kiss him on the corner of his mouth, and turn away.

"What would you have me do?" asked Merlin quietly, his eyes averted.

"I want you to kiss me like you would Arthur," said Brom simply.

Merlin looked up sharply, but he didn't see anything on the young lord's face that indicated he _really_ knew what was going on between he and the prince. He licked his lips quickly and bobbed his head.

Brom moved as fast as an adder's strike. He pulled the sorcerer to him and his hands settled heavily upon his hips. He brushed his lips softly across Merlin's, almost politely, and raised a his thumb, running it over the bow of his mouth. Then abruptly, as if by magnetic force, he kissed the sorcerer intensely.

Brom's tongue slipped past the boy's teeth, tasting him, roaming every inch that was offered. He drank Merlin in, imbibing him until he could feel him in his throat. He kissed him long and deep, like a man drawing a lingering pull from a bottle of spiced rum.

Though his kiss was thirsty, it wasn't desperate. Brom languished in the connection of their mouths, taking his time to explore Merlin. He drank fully of him, until he could feel the sorcerer spike through his veins with a bite like strong liquor. He kneaded the back of the other's neck with nimble, sure fingers, and gloated inwardly when he felt the manservant become yielding and malleable under his hands. He turned them swiftly and pressed Merlin down upon the table, pressing himself flush against him.

Again, he was met with weak resistance. Brom gave himself a proverbial pat on the back; this was going far better than he had expected.

***

All Merlin knew was that his skin was on fire and that the lines were blurring between what he knew was in his heart, what was right, and the demands of the mouth upon his own. He kept picturing Arthur, how his mouth fit with his, and the picture was shattered every time Brom moved his lips more securely against his. His mouth was _talented_.

The warlock struggled against the rising heat of his body, remembering the easy manner in which the young lord had lashed him and carved into his back. Violence was effortless for Brom; consequences meant little. Yet too he remembered the way the other had cared for him afterwards, and the odd moments of near-tenderness that he had felt beneath the tips of those deceivingly long, slender fingers. It was hard to justify the monster with the man who now kissed him, and kissed him like he was the only thing worth kissing in the entire world.

It was confusing and it made Merlin hate himself the longer Brom's lips remained upon his. It made him loathe his traitorous body, when he felt himself relent and relax beneath the expert touch of the other's fingers. And yet Brom didn't press it any further than that, backing off when Merlin could clearly feel that he wished to do far more.

It was wrong, so bloody wrong.

***

Merlin left Brom's room in a daze, his hair mussed, his lips full and swollen. His thoughts were consumed by varying degrees of guilt, confusion, and disbelief. His skin was warm with a heat that was slow to fade. The aristocrat had kept his word and divulged what "the prize" was.

He replayed the short conversation in his mind, Brom's voice sleek and oily in his ear.

_'The prize, little sorcerer, is __you__' Merlin scrambled back from the other man, his blue eyes filled with disbelief._

_"You're lying," he said._

_Brom's only reply was to suck the tip of his thumb into his mouth, and nibble lightly on the edge of his nail. He shook his head after a moment and offered another of his articulate shrugs. "Ask Arthur then."_

_"I'm not a possession," said Merlin quietly, with conviction._

_"No you're not a possession," agreed Brom, with a tilt of his head, "you're __his__ possession." _

Brom had sent him away at that point stating that he required his company again, tomorrow afternoon. Merlin had left in the daze he was currently in, his thoughts racing too fast for his brain to process them. As he dragged his heels down the corridor, vaguely in the direction of the practice fields, he still held onto a thread of hope that Brom was outright lying. There was no way Arthur would ever agree to something like that, even with Uther's iron-clad decree. He would have at least told him of it...right?

Still, he had just learned that the bet in fact _did_ directly involve him. Arthur had been keeping the truth form him this whole time.

Merlin shook his head and felt his resolve in Arthur begin to waver and crumble. His steps faltered halfway to the practice field. He could glimpse the prince a little ways away, sparring violently with one of his knights. The warlock imagined that his blonde hair would be drenched with sweat and stuck erratically to his scalp. His cheeks would be flushed red from exertion and he would have that bright, ferverish glint in his eyes that he did everytime he trained with the knights.

Merlin shook off his doubt; he had to believe that Arthur would tell him it was all a lie.

***

"Where've you been, _Mer_lin?" drawled Arthur, as soon as he caught sight of his manservant lagging over the grass to the practice area. "You're late as usual."

Merlin paused near the weapons rack, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he had hot coals in his boots. The prince stalked over and clapped him soundly on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. "Well, what is it? I asked you a question," he snapped irritably. Behind him, his knights snickered.

The warlock grit his teeth; though the prince was markedly nicer behind closed doors, in front of anybody else he was still a royal prat. "I was, err, busy with lunch with...myself and one of the maids." At his words, Arthur's expression turned decidedly menacing.

"I hope you weren't being _untoward_," he growled ominously, his eyes flitting to take in his manservant's generally rumpled state. "There would be _severe_ repurcussions for such an offense."

Before Merlin could answer, one of the knights - Sir Gowain - piped up unhelpfully. "_Merlin_ with of the maids? That's a laughable thought, m'lord." Some of the knights chuckled along with him, but hushed instantly when they saw the prince bristle and turn quickly in their direction.

"Whoever wishes to join Sir Gowain in two laps around the practice field - full armor - may speak now."

Unsurprisingly, the knights were silent. Sir Gowain, barely managing to school his outraged look into a more respectful expression, began to clunk around the perimeter of the field after shooting off a forced, "Yes m'lord."

Arthur turned back to Merlin and raised a brow as if to say, _"Well?"_

"No of course not sire," hissed the warlock, feeling as if he should defend his dignity just a bit. "Nothing _untoward_ happened." It was of course, not exactly a lie as he hadn't done anything "untoward" with a maid. Just Brom, if one _really good_ kiss could be considered improper, of course. Which, he figured, it likely was.

"Good," said Arthur with a smirk, "though I do enjoy a good oppurtunity to punish you." His eyes grew fond and distant as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. "You haven't been in the stocks lately," he mused with a sudden grin. "I think it might be good for you to visit them again, lest you forget how warm and welcoming they are." Now the knights laughed along with their prince, who patted Merlin on the shoulder and began to turn away.

"Wait, sire," said the manservant, reaching out to lay his fingers lightly upon Arthur's arm. The blonde turned back to him with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked sharply, and in a tone that warned that there were eyes and ears all around them.

Merlin took a quick, deep breath, and laid it all out on the table in one hushed sentence. "Is it true that I'm the 'prize' in this bet that you have with Brom?" He could feel the stillness that settled over the practice field, as knights held their collective breaths and pretended to not be listening.

Arthur frowned at the casual use of Brom's name on his manservant's lips, though he refrained from commenting on it. Merlin's face was far too serious for his liking; it was far too pleading.

He glanced away, uncomfortable, and then, with a single word, crumpled Merlin's world around him like a piece of paper in his fist.

"Yes."

(To be continued..)


	11. Truth Tastes Bitter

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 10– "Truth Tastes Bitter"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to and including Season 2, episode one. just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**dub-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: **3319  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N**: Hey guys!! Long time no update, eh? I apologize for the extreme delay, but I had to take a break from this story. I felt I was getting too focused on certain things and the writing was suffering because of it. So I took a break, wrote in a differentfandom for awhile, and now have returned with a new chapter for you. I can't promise it's as long as the others, but I'm determined to focus more on story and quality than length. I'm also a little rusty since I went on such a long hiatus with this story...

So please, if you are still with me, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 10 - "Truth Tastes Bitter"**

_He glanced away, uncomfortable, and then, with a single word, crumpled Merlin's world around him like a piece of paper in his fist._

_"Yes."_

The world dropped away and Merlin tumbled with it.

| He felt the earth shift and groan beneath his feet; below him, a gaping maw with blunt teeth and a deep, blood-red tongue licked the soles of his boots. He felt a tightness in his belly to accompany the upheaval of his world, and vaguely, he registered that he was swaying on his feet like a reed in the wind.

A hand gripped his shoulder; steadying, an anchor in the midst of the tempest. Merlin felt his head spin as the world slid back into violent focus, colors bleeding together for a moment before his vision normalized.

The warlock found himself staring into a pair of worried blue eyes, and, for a single moment, he couldn't for the life of him remember who he was looking at. The blonde's mouth was moving rapidly, like a wooden dummy with a broken jaw. He was definitely saying something; his lips were moving and the fingers on his shoulder were digging into his flesh urgently.

"Merlin!" said the blonde, "Merlin, are you okay? Say something!"

The voice snapped him back into the present. A name escaped him, brittle, harsh, and thickly coated with anger and humiliation. _"Arthur."_

The prince blinked, surprised by the acrimony in his manservant's voice. He released Merlin abruptly and watched as the dark-haired boy stumbled back, rubbing his shoulder like Arthur's hand had been a branding iron. He felt his guilt and concern begin to twist into something ugly indeed; anger prickled the skin of on the nape of his neck like a hot breeze off of desert sands.

"Calm yourself, Merlin!" he snapped, too aware that his knights had ceased all pretenses and were watching the pair intently. "There's no need to overreact."

Arthur knew his blunder as soon as it freed itself from his lips. Merlin's face became a mask of shock and fury, and beneath it all, there was such a deep look of hurt that the prince had to curl his hands into his fists to keep from reaching out to him. He couldn't show _that_ sort of affection; not in public and especially not in front of the gentry.

"Don't _overreact_?" spat Merlin nastily, his tone infused with venom. "How am I supposed to react, Arthur? How am I supposed to react when I just found out that I've been put up a _prize_ for some stupidnoble's bet? Like, like," he sputtered in his haste to get the words out, "like a pair of your damned riding boots that you've grown tired of?"

Behind Arthur, some of the knights began to mutter darkly about the blatant disrespect a _servant_ was showing the prince. The blonde cursed Merlin for choosing to have this argument right in the middle of practice. Part of him also bristled with injured pride; how _dare_ he speak like that to him in front of his knights? He should _know_ better.

The prince acted swiftly, moving forward to grab Merlin by the shoulders roughly. He kicked the other's legs from under him in one precise, sure movement. His manservant was forced to his knees with a grunt of surprise.

"You will address me as 'sire' or 'my lord' or at the very least 'sir', when you speak to me," said Arthur in the same tone he used when disciplining his knights on the practice field. It was a tone that Merlin, for the most part, had been spared until now. "Do you understand?"

Merlin nodded briefly and forced out a low, "Yes m'lord." He felt Arthur's fingers stroke once through his hair, quick as a flash; so quick that nobody would have seen. He felt the tang of bitterness surge through him. The prince certainly wouldn't want to be caught showing any sort of kindness or affection towards him in public; that would just be unconscionable, now wouldn't it?

He spoke again, knowing that he was making the situation worse than it was, anger and a deep hurt letting the words seep out like pus from a wound. "Forgive me for thinkingm'lord had any sort of regard for a lowly manservant. I guess I was wrong - about _everything_." He paused, and then added a decidedly sarcastic, "Sire."

Arthur counted backwards silently, calling on every last waning reserve of patience he had left. When he spoke his voice wavered dangerously on affectionate - too affectionate for a prince to have when speaking to his manservant. "Merlin _please_," he hissed urgently, pitching his voice low enough so that only Merlin would hear his words, "don't do this here. Not _now_."

The warlock flinched from the tenderness in the blonde's voice, though another voice, one that held the quality of a silk being dragged over steel, mocked him. _'...you're __his__ possession.'_

"Why then," said Merlin slowly, a peculiar sort of fear weaving between his words, "did I have to find out from Brom? Why don't I have a say in what happens to me? You had no right - neither of you did."

"Brom wants you for some reason," replied Arthur tightly, a note of anger bubbling up from deep within him, "and I cannot allow that. I _won't_ allow that."

"Why?"

The word, so simple, shouldn't have carried the weight it did. It slipped laboriously from Merlin's lips, plummeting through the air between them like aloadstone.

Arthur didn't answer for a long, terrible moment. His mouth opened, then shut, and opened again, soundlessly. Inappropriately, Merlin was reminded of a fish gasping for air, and had it been a different situation he might have laughed.

The truth, the _honest_ truth, was lurking somewhere on the tip of Arthur's tongue; he could feel it. The prince, however, took that truth and swallowed it whole, burying deep within himself and swaddling it in denial.

Despite all that had happened between them, despite the pounding of his heart - the truth stretched too-tight across the beating organ like the skin of a drum - he couldn't say what Merlin wanted him to say. He'd tried, numerous times; even alone in his quarters, he'd tried. But that word, that _feeling_, 'Love', was too foreign on his tongue. The mere thought of it and the magnitude of what it meant, woke within Arthur a fear that none of his training or experience had prepared him for.

He shied from it, choosing to deny the truth. The self-loathing he felt because of it, rose swiftly and coated his throat.

"There's no reason," Arthur whispered, his voice laden with all he couldn't bring himself to voice. Merlin could feel the weight of it press against his nose and mouth and suffocate him. "I just won't letBrom have what is _mine_."

Merlin didn't realize that he'd stumbled back from Arthur until he collided with one of the knights. The man's armor was hard and unyielding at his back, and the pain of the sudden collision felt _good_. It took his attention from the pain of something else entirely; something that he felt had just snapped and shattered within. Pain, that felt like jagged edges which tore his insides until he thought he might bleed from his pores.

He toppled to the ground and landed hard on his tailbone. He was too furious, too humiliated, and too devastated to care that the knights had erupted into a sort of nervous snickering at his expense. The warlock saw Arthur take a step towards him and reach out with a faint look of concern creased in in his brow. Merlin scrambled back - he just didn't think he could stand his touch right now.

Not after...he felt his throat close as the stark, bitter truth fully settled: _Brom had been right. Arthur didn't think of him as anything more than his possession._

"Merlin," the prince began and something warred behind his blue gaze. Merlin shook his head vehemently and curled his fingers into the ground on either side of him. The ends of his nails split open and bled as he dug them into the hard-packed earth, but he relished the feeling.

"You're an arrogant, stupid, prat," he murmured in a soft, dead tone, "and a coward." He looked up and stared directly into Arthur's face, which had suddenly become shuttered and closed. He spoke his next words deliberately, as if plucking each syllable from the air. "You're just like your father."

His manservant's words burrowed deep into Arthur and sunk their broken teeth into his soft underbelly. Something came unraveled within him, shredded apart by Merlin's cold expression and even colder words. His face twisted and became ugly with wounded anger and bald hurt. He stalked forward and hauled his manservant up by his shirt, then shoved him towards his knights. "Take him to the dungeons," he commanded, though try as he might, he couldn't quite chase the quaver from his voice.

Arthur looked away, refusing to meet Merlin's eyes as the dark-haired servant was escorted off the practice field and to the dungeons. When he turned to the rest of his knights a long moment later, most couldn't help but notice a glint of misery that lingered in the wake of Merlin's departure.

***

The dungeon was cold, but Merlin, from the arches of his feet to the roots of his hair, was simmering with hurt and anger that kept him quite warm. He wrapped himself in it as he might wrap himself in his power. He used it as a shield from his doubt, his sadness, his...

...his lips trembled as he remembered Arthur's words and the look within Arthur's eyes as he spoke them. The warlock knew, _knew_, that he didn't mean what he had said. And yet the doubt had taken root: hadn't Arthur cast him aside so easily, when Cedric had proven to be a better manservant than he? Hadn'tBrom indicated that Arthur thought of him as nothing more than a mere object in his possession...and been _right_?

Merlin sighed and rested his chin atop his knees, which he had drawn up to his chest as he sat in the corner on some fresh hay that the guards had been kind enough to toss in for him. He let the anger ebb from him, and with it, all of his energy seemed to flow from him too. He slumped a little and let his limbs fall loose as he leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes.

Arthur would never say it, would he? He would never admit to whatever it was that was happening between them.

And that hurt like nothing else ever had. It was even worse than when he had hovered, feverish, on the edge of death.

The words that he had overheard Arthur say to Uther, those several weeks ago, now felt like a lie. Everything that Arthur had said to him felt tainted by it.

***

Merlin must have drifted off, because he woke with a start to the sound of a sharp rap outside of the cell door. He unfolded himself and rose, bits of hay and other flotsam sticking haphazardly from his mess of dark hair. When he peered at his visitor, he couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed that it wasn't Arthur.

"Brom," he said with little surprise, though he still approached the bars cautiously. There was no amusement in the aristocrat's eyes; no hint of mockery in the smile he offered. Instead, there was something close to sympathy that lurked withinBrom's dark green irises, though Merlin noticed that the young lord watched him as a closely as ever.

Brom reached a manicured hand through the bars and rested his palm on Merlin's body, on the elegant curve between shoulder and neck. His hand was heavy, warm, and though the warlock was loathe to admit it, the slightest bit reassuring. Brom, though cruel, dangerous, and too cunning for anyone's good, had never actually lied to him. He laid out his character on the table to be taken or left, though Merlin had the feeling thatBrom never quite took, "no" for an answer.

The fading bruises on his back could attest to that, and the fresh new scar on his lower back spoke volumes about his sadism. Yet, that same man had later tenderly cleaned his wounds...and later still, had lit such a throbbing lust within him, that his body was beginning to react very oddly whenBrom was near.

Overall, Merlin was tired, lovesick, and he felt entirely drained by the intensity of his emotions. He rested his forehead against the cool bars and didn't even flinch when he felt the other's soft lips brush across his brow.

"You were right," Merlin murmured, his tone that of a man who had been defeated.

"Uther is very proud of his son," said Brom mildly, removing his hand from Merlin's shoulder. He curled his fingers beneath the sorcerer's chin and tilted his face up. "He's giving Arthur much praise for finally disciplining a _servant_ properly."

Now Merlin did flinch, jerking back like he had been slapped. "Doesn't surprise me," he sighed, and a moment later, leaned his head against the bars once more. "Uther doesn't think much of me."

"It's a pity," said Brom. His voice held the soft rasp of dry scales sliding over wet stone, and it made Merlin shiver for reasons far removed from fear or disquietude. In fact, he shifted a little closer to the bars, towardsBrom . He felt a little light-headed, like he had just slipped into some surreal pocket of reality; a reality, where he could almost forget that this russet-haired man was the one who left him black and blue and hurt all over.

He blinked and the moment passed, but Brom had seen it. The young lord was looking at him intently, and his mouth was curved into an easy, almost triumphant smile. He moved forward and Merlin hesitated, but then, with some force, shoved himself away from the bars.

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly.

"I'm here to see if you've come to your senses about me," replied Brom with a slight quirk of his lips. He turned and leaned against the bars so that Merlin was presented with the sight of his back and strands of russet hair, which had come loose from his ponytail. The warlock told himself thatBrom's hair didn't look soft as velvet.

"I'm not as cruel as you think," said Brom in reply, the softness of his voice so luring Merlin had to keep himself from leaning into it, "I came to offer you an out."

Immediately Merlin was wary. "What do you mean, 'an out'?"

Brom didn't turn around, but Merlin could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again.  
"Come away with me tonight, leave Arthur, and be with me as _my_ manservant."

Now he turned and crooked his finger towards Merlin. As if pulled by  
an invisible string, the warlock moved forward towards the bars once more. Brom reached a hand through and tilted the other's chin upwards and planted a kiss on the dark-haired boy's unresisting lips. "I for one, would not be embarrassed to claim you as my own."

"That's all I'll ever be to anyone, isn't it?" asked Merlin, a note of indignation coloring his tone. "Just something for someone to claim as theirs."

"Such is the way of the world," admitted Brom, not unkindly. His eyes, however, had narrowed slightly. "But I'd hope that you could glean some sort of _pleasure_ under me."

The tops of Merlin's ears reddened at the blatant innuendo and he began to push away from the bars again, when the back of his neck was seized in a strong, painful grip. Brom's green eyes were suddenly hard. "Do not mistake any kindness I've shown you for weakness, Merlin."

"Kindness?" sputtered Merlin, disbelievingly. "It _still_ hurts to lean back against anything.

"You won't leave Arthur on your own, will you?" asked the young lord, his expression once again lighter. His gaze now held a distinct chord of curiosity. "Such a shame. Well, in that case, I won't push you."

Brom released Merlin but the warlock didn't immediately step away and out of reach. He instead gave Brom a perplexed look and asked the same thing that he had asked Arthur, earlier on the practice field: _"Why?"_

The other man looked serious for a moment, but something distinctly dark stirred within his gaze. "Because I want YOU, Merlin."

Brom then turned to depart and but Merlin darted forward and reached his hand through the bars. The young lord stilled when he felt the manservant's fingers on his shoulder and he turned back with pleased smile. "Yes?"

Merlin unfastened the red kerchief from around his neck and brought it close to his lips. He whispered a spell against the fabric, words of magic wove into the fibers of the clothe, infusing it with the enchantment.

He passed it through to Brom, who took the kerchief with one auburn brow raised.

"If you wear this tomorrow, no matter how difficult the shot, your bow will never miss."

Brom nodded and with one last glance at Merlin, tucked the clothe into his breast pocket and left the warlock alone in the solitude of the dungeon with only his thoughts as company.

(To be continued...)


	12. Chasing the White Hart

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 11– "Chasing the White Hart"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to and including Season 2, episode one. just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**dub-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count:** 3093  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N**: Thank you for continuing to read! I'm going to tell you right now we're on the home stretch for this one...and there is a sequel in the works. So bear with me and hold onto your pants.

I hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter 11: "Chasing the White Hart"**

Even after a night of drinking with his knights, enduring brunch had never quite been such an _ordeal_ for Arthur. Compounded with the fact that he had slept very poorly the night before, it was increasingly difficult for him to remain in his seat, when all he wanted to do was launch himself across the table and throttle Brom Aurelianus.

It was that red kerchief Brom was wearing tied proudly around his upper arm like a lady's favor to her chosen knight.

In this case, Arthur knew no lady had given Brom her favor. Merlin had. And the thought and knowledge that the young lord was wearing _Merlin's_ kerchief made the prince so livid that he felt sick to his stomach.

Not only did that mean that Merlin had given it to him - he'd like to think unwillingly - but it also meant that Brom had visited Merlin last night. The prince grit his teeth until it felt like they would shatter from the pressure - it should be _him_ wearing that stupid red kerchief!

Brom, for his part, seemed quite rested and at ease, though Arthur could see that the young lord was watching closely from the corner of one deep green eye. Whenever the prince's gaze would drop to the splash of red around his arm, the corner of Brom's mouth would tug upwards and he would brush a long finger across the fabric.

That too, was irritating Arthur.

His father's voice interrupted his musing - he refused to think of it as _brooding_. Brooding was something Merlin would do; not him.

Across from him, Brom shot him a wide smile, his teeth a flash of white. He gave a quirk of an auburn brow and touched the red kerchief around his left arm again, and, quite dramatically, heaved a great sigh.

"Is something the matter son?" asked Duke Aurelianus in a serious rumble. Brom shrugged noncommittally, but just as Arthur was going to snap and tell him that if he was _that_ bored he should leave the table, Uther's chuckle interrupted him.

"Can't you see, Ambrosius?" questioned the King. His blue eyes were bright with knowing when he glanced at his friend. "Your son wears a lady's favor on his arm. Doubtless he is simply pining for the lady whose token was given."

Ambrosius considered this and finally gave his approval with a peal of laughter that echoed like a drum through the room. "Is this true, Brom?"

Brom made a show of humility, but his smile was winning when turned it upon Uther and his father. "Yes m'lords, it is quite true. The lady gave me her token and I in turn," he paused for dramatic effect and took a deep drag of ale, "gave her a kiss."

Arthur's fists clenched in his lap. Brom winked at him.

Uther smirked. "Oh? I take it you've found a lady whom has caught your fancy, here in Camelot?"

The young lord inclined his head, cutting his eyes towards Arthur through his lashes. "Yes sire, I have indeed. And what a lady!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand over his chest. "She is tall and thin, with a marvelously long neck that I must admit, stirs me. Her eyes are so blue they rival the sky, and her hair so dark it is deeper than the blackest night." Now Brom leaned in, towards Arthur and drove the knifepoint deeper. "Her lips, Arthur, they taste like apples and are oh-so-_sweet_."

Arthur brought his fist down upon the table with enough force to clatter the dishes.

"ENOUGH!" he bellowed, his cheeks colored with rage. "You probably forced the poor girl to kiss your filthy mouth," he sneered, ignoring the protests of his father and the Duke.

Brom managed to look affronted, his green eyes widening with disbelief. "I apologize my prince, if you know the woman whom I speak of, but I can assure you...she was _very_ willing. So very willing, sire; her pale skin was flushed _hot_."

"The two of you WILL stop it!" snapped Uther, his mood turning foul. "I will not have you two be at eachother's throats at the table. I don't know what bad blood is between you two, but hopefully after today's chase, the air will finally be cleared."

"The King is most certainly right, Brom," supplied the Duke, giving his son a stern look, "you should be more polite when speaking of a lady and her favor. Obviously you have upset the prince with something that you said - apologize at once."

Brom promptly stood and bowed slightly, raising his eyes to Arthur's. "My prince, if I have offended you in _any way_, I offer my sincerest apologies." Though his words dripped with deference, Brom's eyes reflected only cold triumph.

***

Arthur knew he shouldn't have been surprised to see Brom lounging outside of his chambers when he returned to them later in that morning, but he couldn't help from rolling his eyes at the other. When he addressed the lord, mindful of the servants passing in the hallway and the guards patrolling nearby, his voice was tight.

"What do you want?" he asked tersely, his words clipped.

"Just to wish you good luck on the hunt this afternoon," replied Brom, pushing away from the wall. He stuck out a hand. "May the best man win."

Not wishing to look like a poor sport in the eyes of his people, Arthur took Brom's hand in his own and did his best to crush the bones with his fingers. "Do you really think you have a chance, Brom?" asked the prince, fixing a confident smirk across his features. "We both know I've always been better at this sort of thing than you."

Brom's eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of annoyance, but it was gone in a flash. "That may be so, _my prince_," said he as he pressed forward, uncomfortably close, "but you remember that I wear a special favor." The young lord dropped his eyes to the red kerchief around his arm, then slid them back up to Arthur's. "Perhaps it will bring me luck. After all, Merlin gave it to me freely along with his..._benediction_."

The prince could feel the anger coil through him again. He released Brom's hand with a noise of disgust, blue eyes narrowed. "You won't win Brom and you won't win Merlin. I won't let you." The latter was spoken with a note of finality.

Brom shrugged, but suddenly there was a hint of something utterly dreadful within his green irises. "Don't be so sure, Arthur. You take too much for granted. Besides," here Brom caught the prince by the upper arm and nestled his lips by his ear, his breath stirring those soft blonde locks, "I thought you didn't love Merlin - not exactly."

Arthur tore his arm from the other's grasp, his breath coming quickly as he fought the physical urge to lash out. "What I feel or don't feel for Merlin is _none_ of your concern," he growled in a low voice. "And I can certainly assure you that Merlin will never love _you_."

"Oh?" questioned Brom, his auburn brows tugging upwards. A keen curiosity laced his smooth tone. "Well," he chuckled, "not _yet_." He leaned in again and spoke in a low whisper, his breath ghosting across the smooth skin of Arthur's cheek. "Remember, I _always_ get what I want."

When he drew back, Arthur stared at Brom for several long moments. Something that burned fiercer than hate, was evident within his ice-blue gaze. Brom's own gaze, though vaguely amused, was in contrast terribly cold and emotionless.

Biting back anything further he might have said, Arthur turned from the other man and strode down the hall, his legs quickly eating the ground before him.

He kept his head high and proud, though behind that handsome and cocksure expression, Arthur was badly shaken.

***

Merlin hadn't had the best night of sleep. Not only had it been spent in the less than glamorous accommodations of the castle dungeons, but also Brom's visit had left him feeling unbalanced and unsure of himself.

He had sat in the darkness for a good many hours and asked himself the same question over and over: _why had he given Brom his neckerchief?_

He could have enchanted anything that Brom had - anything - yet he had, in a quick, perhaps foolish decision, given the lord something of _his_. Logically, it was a bad choice - Merlin could admit that. Anybody who had ever seen him wear that article of clothing, would know that it was his. If somehow it was taken and proven to be an enchanted object, it could only be traced to himself.

And yet a deeper part of him knew the true reason for it, and it was a reason as selfish and petty as any: _Merlin had wanted to get back at Arthur._

The warlock sighed and continued to walk the two horses that would be used for that afternoon's hunt, around the paddock. (Why he'd gotten stuck with this job and not one of the stable boys, he didn't know, but if it kept him from mucking out the stalls he'd take it.)

The horses were complacent enough and as Merlin plodded along with them, he mulled over everything that had happened between he and Arthur.

And when he thought about it, Merlin wasn't sure that he was ready to forgive the prince - or that he _could_ forgive him.

He'd put his life on the line for the prat, numerous times, albeit most of the time it had been without his Arthur's knowledge. He'd proven that he would do anything for him. He'd proven that he would _give_ everything to him - and he had, in his entirety. He'd given everything to Arthur and had left nothing for himself. And still, most of the time Arthur treated him worse than...well, worse than this damned horse he was walking.

Yet...

Merlin closed his eyes and recalled the feel of the prince's lips as they skimmed along his skin. He remembered the burr of his voice as he lay with him, his ear pressed to the blonde's chest as they lay on Arthur's royal bed in a tangle of limbs and post-coital haze. He remembered hiding outside of Uther's chambers as Arthur railed at his father in his defense.

And too, he recalled the burn of Arthur's blue eyes when he curled his fingers around his shoulder and promised, "You serve nobody but _me_."

Even now, despite all of the arguments and tension and awkwardness that came with any new relationship, Merlin knew that he loved Arthur. And up until yesterday, he had thought that Arthur had loved him back.

But now, in light of all that had been kept from him and transpired, he just wasn't sure. The worst part, was that Merlin wasn't sure anymore if Arthur would ever love him - or if he did, if he would ever say it.

And the thought that Arthur might never acknowledge what was between them, out of fear or something else entirely, Merlin didn't know, made the warlock want to walk away and not look back - on _any_ of it.

***

Arthur kept a keen eye on the surrounding forest as he guided his mount beneath the forest canopy, mindful of low hanging branches and gnarled roots that would occasionally twist up from the ground. A branch broke to his left and he snapped his eyes towards the noise, gritting his teeth with annoyance when he saw that it was only Brom several feet off, steering his horse at a sedate pace parallel to him.

The prince took a moment to observe the russet-haired aristocrat, grudgingly admiring the sanded ash-wood longbow across Brom's back. It was nearly as tall as Arthur himself, and he knew from testing it, that it would be a good 140lb draw. He'd seen the other noble use it before, even on horseback; Brom would stand in the stirrups and draw back the bowstring as if it were nothing.

Brom was also very good with the longbow, which was a skill that Arthur had perfected. He preferred the crossbow, anyway, but in this case it gave him a slight disadvantage: while it made maneuvering and quick-firing easier, he sacrificed range and rate of fire. Brom would be able to take a shot from much farther away - provided Arthur let him have one.

At that moment Brom's head swiveled towards him and the aristocrat fixed his gaze on a point over Arthur's shoulder. The prince turned and saw, at a fair distance, the white hart. He couldn't hope to get a clear shot with his crossbow, but provided Brom's aim was true, the hart wasn't out of reach for the other man.

A glance back confirmed that Brom knew this too, for he had unharnessed the longbow from across his back and nocked an arrow.

Arthur scowled and did the only thing he could think to do: _he loosed a great whooping cry as he reined his steed and took off towards the stag._

The effect was immediate: the hart started and bolted into the brush. The prince grinned when he heard Brom's curse behind him, but it soon melted and the corners of his mouth became hard with determination.

The hunt was on and the stakes were far higher than he'd ever gambled.

***

The air rushed by Brom's face in a rush as he gave Arthur chase, his green eyes calculating as he coaxed his mount over a low log at full gallop. He couldn't let Arthur get a clear trajectory - that was the key.

His auburn hair pulled free from it's ponytail and whipped around his face as he guided his horse on a different path through between the trees, giving up direct chase in favor of an alternate route. Ahead and now to his right, Brom saw that Arthur too had slowed and was choosing his path more carefully as the hart drew them into the deeper forest. He needed to get the beast to an open area where he had a clear shot.

Brom hadn't been paying attention to where his horse was stepping, and when the stallion's iron-shod hoof scraped over a large flat stone on the forest floor, the hart, flinching away from the noise, abruptly changed coursed charged straight towards Arthur.

The prince, in a feat of horsemanship, yanked back on his mount's reins causing the horse to rear up onto its hindquarters. Arthur swiveled his steed's head sharply away from the oncoming stag and dug his spurs deeply into his mount's sides. With an angry whiny of pain and panic, Arthur's mount shot off away from the stag as it charged by, sharp rack lowered.

As Arthur fought for control of his stallion and rounded back towards the hart in a tight circle, Brom seized his chance.

He spurred his steed forward and tore after the hart.

He could hear the pound of Arthur's mount behind him, it's heavy hooves slamming down in four-beat gait. The prince was gaining. The young lord bent low over his horse's withers, opening the reins and spurring the beast from a canter into a gallop.

The hart feinted to the right then swung left, heading towards an open field. The trees began to thin and Brom felt a few low branches swat at his face, opening thin lines on his forehead, cheek, and jaw. He didn't flinch or even seem to feel the sting.

He worked best with some pain to hone his focus; after all, he _enjoyed_ the hurt.

Arthur was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him now and when he looked over he saw the prince had leveled his crossbow. Brom drew his own longbow and steady as he could be, raised himself from the stirrups.

They were almost there. The field was just another few beats away.

As soon as the two riders broke the tree line, the sun bright in their eyes, they let their arrows fly.

***

**A/N:**_ *cue dramatic music...cut to commercial break*_

(To be continued...)


	13. The Great Collapse

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 12 – "The Great Collapse"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to and including Season 2, episode one. just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(dub-con)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count:** 3608  
Summary: When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: Merlin

**A/N:** EGADS! Three more chapters to go! (And possibly an epilogue.) Yeah...the title is a NIN song. Are you all hanging in there with me? Good good...now just put on these metal bracelets...what? Yes, I know they're linked by a chain! It's fashion, darlings, fashion I say...

I hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter 12: "The Great Collapse"**

The death cry of the hart rent the air in a trumpet of anguish that echoed through the sky. It hung for a moment, lingering in the ears, before fading wetly into the backdrop of the dwindling afternoon.

Beneath Arthur, his mount's shoulders heaved and rolled. It's brown coat was dark with sweat, and the beast wheezed noisily with the force of its exertion. With a gentle hand, the prince reined his steed and guided him back towards the fallen stag.

The sound of hooves coming to a halt nearby indicated that Brom had followed suit. Almost as one, the two competitors dismounted and approached the twitching body of the felled hart. Its coarse ivory coat was stained with red and blood seeped rapidly from the puncture wounds in its shoulder.

Arthur's bolt had pierced it straight through shoulder blade. Brom's had been a perfect shot - the killing shot. His arrow had entered the stag's body at just the right moment, when its right leg was extended forward, revealing a soft, small spot in which an arrow could pierce straight through to the heart.

The stag was Brom's kill.

Brom had...

...he'd lost...

...Merlin was...

...oh gods, he'd failed.

Failed. Failed. Failed.

The prince hadn't noticed that he'd fallen to his knees beside the hart's corpse, until a shadow fell across him. Brom dropped down into a crouch next to him and placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

"If it makes you feel any better, Arthur," said the aristocrat in a smug, velvety tone, "I promise to break him in gently."

The prince shrugged off Brom's hand violently, then balled up his fist and swung around, catching the other noble in the jaw with the gratifying feel of knuckles slammed against bone. He crashed himself into the other man and pinnedBrom on his back beneath his weight, one knee pressed against the other's solar plexus.

"How?" he snarled, all sense of princely etiquette vanished. "How did you manage that shot? I know I'm better than you." Arthur brought his face close toBrom's, his fingers clenched and trembling, bunched around the front of the other's green shirt.

Brom responded by throwing his head back and laughing.

"Hit me again, Arthur," he taunted with a sharp grin, his lips drawn back from his teeth, "you know I like it rough." Brom leaned up and nipped at Arthur's bottom lip, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweat beaded in the shallow dip of the prince's chin. "By the way you keep throwing me to the ground," he jeered, his tone cutting, "I'm beginning to think that you'd rather have me instead of Merlin."

When Arthur began to jerk back with a bewildered noise and an expression of deep animus, Brom pushed himself up, grabbed a fistful of his red shirt, and shoved him back, reversing their positions. The noble settled his weight on Arthur's chest and grinned down at him.

"I'd normally say yes, but blondes aren't really to my taste. Also I think I'm going to need all of my energy for playing with my newest possession."

Arthur shoved Brom off of him furiously and leapt to his feet. He stalked back to his horse leaving the other lying in the grass next to the dead stag.

"Oh Arthur?"

The prince paused next to his horse, but didn't turn to look at the other man.

"As to, 'how', well, let's just say that I'm actually willing to work for what I want."

Arthur swung into the saddle and departed wordlessly, Brom's scornful and victorious laughter trailing in his wake.

Merlin moved through the banquet hall with a sense of surrealism. It felt like the world was spinning rapidly around him while he was the only stationary object in the room. The general clamor of the guests, their voices loud and loose and infused by alcoholic vigor, seemed indistinct and distant to his ears.

He was a puppet with broken strings, twitching his way through life-sized marionettes who moved like automatons in celebration. Their faces had for the most part blurred together into a mix of garishly painted eyes and mouths and rosy, liquor-flushed cheeks. Here and there one would swim into his vision and snap into too-sharp focus, every feature outlined in crisp detail, like he were looking at them through a magnifying glass.

At those times, Merlin's attention was forcibly pulled back to the banquet and to the celebration. When that happened, the warlock remembered why this celebration was being held: Uther and Duke Aurelianus were celebrating a fruitful hunt.

And subsequently, they too were celebrating Brom's recent acquisition: him.

Some part of him had known it was going to happen. He had helped the young lord to win the bet, after all. Well, at least he had helped to tip the scales inBrom's favor. Still, there had been a chance - just a shot in the dark, all things considered - that Arthur might have won.

As Merlin moved to refill Brom's goblet, he had to wonder if Arthur winning instead would have made a difference to him, knowing that he had managed to keep Merlin to himself.

He wondered if that would make a difference to himself, for that matter.

Would Arthur have still treated him as poorly as before? Would he have finally announced, if not to the world then to himself, that he cared for Merlin? That he loved him?

And, now that Merlin technically belonged to another, would that make any difference at all, to Arthur?

Or would he even care? Perhaps this is what Arthur wanted all along.

The thought was thoroughly depressing. And Merlin, in an attempt to keep from pondering it at all, focused all his attention on serving his new master,Brom Aurelianus.

Arthur was piss drunk. He was possibly drunker than he'd ever been in his life, and at that moment, it wasn't even close to being drunk enough. Everything in his world simply hurt, from the thud of his heart to clench of his chest. Food tasted like it had been sapped of flavor - in fact, it tasted downright horrible, like dirty dirt.

The prince snickered into his wine goblet, sloshing most of it onto the table. 'Dirty dirt,' he thought, gulping down another swallow of deep red liquid. He laughed, a hyena burst of drunken amusement that sounded weirdly like it was bordering on hysteria. Even laughing hurt.

Arthur drank more.

At least drinking didn't hurt. Nope, the alcohol made the pain of his head and chest lessen. It made the fact the he could feel himself begin to unhinge, tendon by tendon, seem meaningless. It made him numb.

Numb was good.

Numb meant the sting of seeing Merlin with Brom, wasn't quite so poignant. It almost made it bearable - almost.

And no matter what, it couldn't fully drown out the knowledge that he'd gambled and lost something - someone - who was more precious to him than he could even admit.

Arthur lurched away from the thought and motioned for more wine.

Brom raised his goblet high and swept his eyes around the those assembled until he held the attention of those gathered. He motioned to Merlin, who, after hesitating a moment, stepped forward and joined him. The aristocrat, placed a hand on his new manservant's back and grinned charmingly at his audience.

"My good ladies, lasses, and gentlemen," he began magnanimously, "firstly I want to thank the King for allowing us to celebrate a successful hunt!" He took a small sip of his wine, while those around him imbibed of theirs deeply. Brom gave Merlin a commanding look and indicated the wine glass that he had set out for him. "Drink," murmured he and leaned in, his lips barely grazing the other's ear, "I insist."

The spot where Brom's lips brushed his ear felt tingly and warm. It made Merlin shiver even though it was stifling in the hall. Still, he was quite aware of that by standing next toBrom , he was under the scrutiny of those assembled. The warlock snatched up the wine glass with those long, often clumsy fingers, and drank deeply.

Merlin coughed. The wine tasted funny. And after just a few minutes, he could already feel his head begin to thrum with a warm and muzzy feeling.

It wasn't an unpleasant feeling; not necessarily.

He turned towards Brom and felt his face burn scarlet. The aristocrat was looking at him very closely, and when he had turned they'd come practically nose to nose. Merlin felt a hum of something skip along his fingertips, his senses tingling with the effects of the wine and something else.

Brom smiled. The haziness in his head increased and everything took on a pleasantly fuzzy sheen.

"I'd also like to toast my most noble competitor, Prince Arthur," continued Brom, turning away from Merlin to again address the crowd. "He gives us the finest example of good sportsmanship. May us all drink to his health!"

This time Merlin didn't need any prompting. He took another long drink from his goblet, for once appreciating the slight burn of the alcohol as it flowed down his throat. It felt like he could taste every ingredient, every nuance - even down to the grapes that had been used to create it.

The world continued to thrum pleasantly, and slowly, as he stood there, the warlock became aware that his skin was buzzing too. Everything was hot - so, so, hot. The spot where the young lord's hand rested on his back felt like it was on fire.

Suddenly he was very aware of another thing: Brom.

Every nerve ending prickled at the other's nearness. It was like every part of him, down to each individual hair follicle, was hyper sensitive. WhenBrom shifted, hip brushing against hip, Merlin exhaled a harsh, noisy breath and barely stopped himself from leaning closer.

"Finally," said Brom, looking to Merlin once again, "I personally propose a drink to acknowledge my new manservant." He grinned like a cat eying a saucer of milk. "May this be a dawning of a new day."

Merlin swayed with sensation as Brom let the hand on his back drop, his fingers sliding down his spine and running lightly over each vertebrae. He tilted his head back and finished his wine.

The world spun lazily and Merlin spun with it. And gods, it felt good just to feel good. It felt good to not be able to hold onto any of the troublesome thoughts that were weighing him down. It felt good to sink into the haze of his mind and let worry and fear slip him by. And it felt good to brush againstBrom...in fact, it felt more than good!

Merlin didn't his goblet had been filled again, but when he brought it to his lips he saw that it was brimming with dark liquid, he drank it all - every last drop. He hiccuped as the alcohol seemed to hit him all at once. He wobbled on his feet and stumbled intoBrom , who caught him with an arm around his waist. The young lord said something near his ear, and Merlin - a big sloppy grin on his face - actually giggled.

There was a crash followed by a chorus of startled shouts, and he turned to see Arthur staggering towards them.

"Here comes Arthur," sighed Merlin, his brow creasing as he tried to remember something important. What had he been worried about? This would all be fine. He certainly felt fine.

A small part of his mind told him that he shouldn't be this inebriated, this fast.

He ignored it.

Arthur couldn't stand it any longer - Merlin was practically hanging on Brom! Why was Merlin touching him? Did everything that had gone on between them mean nothing? It wasn't as if their argument had been that bad, and damn-it, he'd lied to Merlin to protect him. It had all been for his own good.

Alcohol fueled his jealousy which fueled his rage; it fueled his thoughts and filled in the gaps in his logic.

The anger burned the hurt away.

The prince staggered up and pushed towards Merlin and Brom. His blue eyes were bright with the feverish sheen of intoxicated fury. He jabbed a finger towards Brom, his mouth twisting into a careless, unkind smile as he raised his goblet.

"I'd like't propose toast!" he said loudly, holding his goblet high and spilling wine on the floor. "T'Brom." He swung loosely around towards the other noble and knocked back his drink, draining it in one go. "Jus' like t'say Brom, that I'm glad you're takin' Merlin off of my hands. He's an absholutely abysmal servant. Terrible. Terrible, terrible, terrible."

Now Arthur, his eyes wet with something more than too much drink, turned to Merlin. His former manservant swam in and out of his line of sight. Gods it hurt to look at him. It hurt to look at the shocked expression on Merlin's face. It hurt to keep from touching him, from reaching out to him, and taking him into his arms.

It made Arthur angrier, but at that point, held sway by alcohol, his emotions, and a loosened tongue, he was helpless to stop this travesty from carrying forward.

"He isn't worth m'time," continued Arthur in a vicious slur, "never was. So good riddance."

Inwardly, he screamed at himself for saying this, for hurting Merlin. But that same part wanted to hurt Merlin.

Part of him wanted to make Merlin hurt as much as he was hurting, because if Merlin felt like he did, it meant nothing had changed between them.

It meant that everything would all be okay.

At least that's what Arthur told himself.

No matter how far Merlin ran, Arthur's words still rang in his ears. They echoed in his head and cut deeply, undermining any hope he might have had that Arthur had ever truly cared about him.

Nothing, he'd meant nothing. It meant nothing. It...

The warlock stopped in an empty corridor, his body thrumming with energy and hyper-sensitivity. His head swam, his heart bled, and Merlin dearly wished that he could just lose himself in the warmth and fuzziness once more. He just wished he could not care, even just for awhile.

The coolness of the stone felt practically frigid against the heat of his skin, but Merlin pressed himself back against the wall and tried to disappear.

There were footsteps in the hall and when the warlock looked up, he saw Brom stalking towards him. He sighed and tried to feel guilty over his relief that it wasn't Arthur. As it was, he just couldn't; in fact he was immensely relieved it wasn't the prince. Merlin just didn't think he could handle that confrontation right now.

"Merlin," said Brom once he reached him, his tone hard and serious. The warlock's name rolled from the aristocrats lips like he was pulling each syllable along his tongue. He curled his fingers around the back of Merlin's neck roughly, fingers squeezing hard as he dug intoth sorcerer's flesh. "I won't tolerate you running off and abandoning your duties. Forget what Arthur said - it's meaningless. The only thing that should matter to you now, is what I say."

The aristocrat's green eyes were frigid as he crushed his mouth to Merlin's - violent, forceful, and domineering.

This wasn't supposed to be pleasant; this was a lesson.

The effect was instantaneous. All at once Merlin's body began to throb - verily ache - for physical sensation...pressure...touch...anything. His body hummed for release; his nerves strained for stimulation. Some part of him knew this wasn't mere drunkenness. This was something else.

This was something wrong.

Brom's mouth was insistent and hot against his own, teeth scraping against Merlin's bottom lip painfully. Merlin gasped, the pain so harsh on his hyper-sensitive nerves that he could barely distinguish it from the overflow pleasure that lanced through his body. The aristocrat issued a growl in the back of his throat and then bit his shoulder with enough violence to leave a bruise even through the material.

The pain should have warned him; this was wrong. This wasn't Arthur. This was wrong.

The warlock moaned and pressed his head back into the wall.

Merlin could feel the world lurch and sway, swaddled by alcohol haze and the hot thread of lust - pleasure spiked with pain - that swam through him. Brom's mouth was wet and warm where he sucked on the warlock's neck savagely, and Merlin felt himself slip further into the sensation. He groaned; he wanted something more. He wanted to taste, to touch, to drench himself in the moment so he couldn't feel anything but this pain-tinged pleasure that swept him.

Somewhat clumsily, wine smoothing out what little grace he might have possessed, Merlin slid to his knees. He was without coyness or pretense as he pressed cheek against the bulge inBrom's pants. The softness of the suede material was offset by the rigidness behind it, and without thinking about it, he let instinct take him.

Merlin turned his head and pressed his nose against Brom's hardness and inhaled deeply.

Brom pulled a sharp breath through his teeth and glanced down at Merlin, who was now sucking him through the material of his pants with wet, sloppy noises. The warlock looked up at him, his pale cheeks flushed. His blue eyes were dilated and unfocused, and his lips were plump and swollen. "I've never done that before," admitted Merlin in a small, unsure voice.

Brom eyes narrowed sharply, his lids heavy, and he abruptly hauled Merlin up and swung him around . He shoved him roughly against the wall, hard enough that the warlock's chin scraped against the stone, opened, and bled.

"Brom...wait," protested Merlin thickly, fighting to form the words in the slip-slide haze of his mind. He tried to push back, a distant panic worming its way through the fuzziness of his mind, but was slammed back against the stone. Brom kicked his legs apart with a silky chuckle in his ear.

"Now don't be a tease," he chided, his fingers sure and insistent as they worked the fastenings of Merlin's pants.

Merlin felt himself slip away, sensation too much, nerve endings erupting into fire when Brom took him, no preparation except for the blood that torn flesh provided.

He shut his eyes, told himself he enjoyed it, that he deserved his, that it felt good.

And maybe it did, because when it was done and Brom was walking him back towards the banquet, he felt stickiness in his britches that wasn't blood or sweat, from the orgasm that had somehow slipped by him.

"I don't want to hurt you Merlin," murmured Brom, pulling him aside before they reached the celebration, "but you must learn that there are consequences for your actions." All sweetness and sugar-coated tone, the aristocrat leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the warlock's bruised lips. "I promise you next time will be better, eh? That is all for tonight - I require my breakfast tomorrow morning just after dawn."

Merlin nodded numbly, residual muzziness in his head making the ground beneath his feet lurch, and he stumbled away, towards his quarters.

(To be continued...)


	14. The Line Begins to Blur

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 13 – "The Line Begins to Blur "  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to and including Season 2, episode one. just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**dub-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count:** 3600  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N**: Two more chapters after this! I've got a fic exchange for SPN that I have to finish, so the next chapter may be delayed slightly. Sorry! Hopefully this will slake your hunger for a bit.

I hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter 13: "The Line Begins to Blur"

It was the threshold of the new day and the early morning was cold and silent all around him. Slowly, the long shadows of the evening wore thin and became threaded with pale light, casting the warlock into a chiaroscuro figure bundled in blankets and bedding.

For a long time Merlin, with the breaking dawn keeping bleak vigil, lay awake in his bed. He was paralyzed with the knowledge that had finally sunk in: _he wasBrom's._.

Thoughts of destiny and Arthur and his failed duty swam about his mind, which still felt a bit soupy from too much drink the night before...

...and whatever _else_.

Merlin felt a wave of nausea and confusion hit him and deaden his limbs when he thought about what he and Brom had done. Or rather what Brom had done to him. He felt nauseous with the knowledge that he had been drugged. He felt confused because he knew, on some level, that he had possibly enjoyed some part of it.

The warlock forced himself to breathe, his heart a twitchy stutter in his chest as he remembered events of the night prior. Even though things had been hazy, he still remembered _that_ in more than minor detail.

He could still feel Brom's teeth on the nape of his neck as the noble bit deeply into his flesh, the sensation stabilizing against the rough slick-slide as he rutted against him. He recalled Brom's weight against his back, tangible against the surrealistic horror of the situation. He felt the same poignant shock twist through him when he remembered the pain of being taken so violently; of being forced when he wasn't sure he wanted it...and later, his shame at discovering that he had come without once being touched.

Had it been a purely physical reaction? Or had it been something more...something that spoke to a darkness that prowled within him...something he'd felt and sometimes feared. Had he actually _liked_ it?

It'd been his fault, anyhow, he thought bitterly. He'd let Brom kiss him enough times and had literally gone down on his knees for the lord, right there in the hallway.

He'd asked for it.

Merlin felt his guilt make his throat burn with bitter aftertaste - he was _never_ telling Arthur what had happened. He sighed and fought back a surge of utter despair when he thought about the debacle at the banquet.

Arthur probably wouldn't have cared about what happened to him, anyway.

Merlin shied away from the thought - it was painful to the point where his eyes brimmed wetly - and forced himself from bed, wincing as the soreness of his abused body protested the motion. He stretched stiffly and glanced towards the window, noting that he had at least a little while to make himself presentable. There was no fixing the scrape on his chin or the angry, mouth-shaped bruises emblazoned on his shoulder and neck. Still, he could wash away the evidence of sex from his skin and hide his ruined pants until he could figure out a way to get the stains out or find the time to dispose of them altogether.

Right now it just wouldn't do for Gaius to find them and ask questions - the physician was already discerning enough. His point was proven when he exited his room and found Gaius already awake and concocting something that smelled like fragrant vomit with a mortar and pestle. The physician took one look at him, his thick white brows drawing briefly downwards, and then gestured towards a jar of brownish paste on one of the shelves.

"For your chin," he offered gruffly, "it will speed up the healing process."

Merlin bobbed his head in acquiescence and gave the older man a slight smile, which turned into a grimace once he smelled the salve. "Ugh Gaius, that's truly awful."

Gaius shot him a stern look that clearly said, 'You will use that if you know what's good for you.'

The warlock snapped his mouth shut and smeared a tiny dab of the substance on his chin. He attempted to look happy about it. When he turned to depart, the other's voice stopped him at the door.

"Merlin," asked Gaius, "what happened, by the way?"

Merlin turned and gave the physician another smile, and lied through his teeth. "I tripped and fell," he replied, then immediately left before Gaius could ask him anything more.

***

It was strange to deliver breakfast to someone other than Arthur.

Yet Brom was far more pleasant than Arthur had ever been in the morning. In fact, when Merlin had entered the aristocrat's chambers, Brom had been lazing in bed looking superbly rumpled atop the covers. He was clad in a loose tunic and trews - made out of finer material than Merlin would ever hope to wear - and his hair had been undone and fanned out on the pillows behind his head. He'd given the warlock a lazy smile when he had walked in, his mouth loose and relaxed, but he noticed that the lord's gaze was as clear and sharp as ever.

"Merlin," purred Brom, rising from the bed in a smooth movement, "how are you this morning?"

The warlock fought to keep his face neutral and failed miserably. When he spoke, his voice trembled. "Fine, all things considered m'lord," he replied, staring hard at a stain on the tablecloth. Brom polished an apple with his sleeve from the bowl of fruit he'd brought and offered it to Merlin.

"Apple?"

"No thanks."

The aristocrat shrugged and bit into the fruit with a loud crunch. Merlin risked a glance at him and frowned when he saw that Brom was staring steadily at him with a decidedly smug expression. The other man smiled, his teeth straight and white, and the warlock was forcibly reminded of the feel of them on his flesh. Involuntarily, he shivered.

"What's the matter, Merlin?" Brom asked with perfect innocence.

Now Merlin rounded on him, stunned. "What do mean?" he spat, his chest heaving as his heart began to beat faster. "You - we - " he paced, feeling like an animal trapped in a dragon's cave. Suddenly Brom was before him, his hands curled into in a hard, painful grip on his shoulders.

"Ask me," he growled, his green eyes unblinking as he stared into Merlin's distraught face.

"Why," asked Merlin meeting his gaze, a note of defiance creeping into his tone, "did you...did we..." he trailed off, remembering pleasure and pain mixed so harshly together it had become something else entirely in his mind.

Brom just grinned, released him, and clicked his tongue. "Ah ah, little spoons don't ask big questions." he replied.

Merlin's expression turned first disbelieving, then puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped, irritated to find that his anger had been diffused somewhat.

The russet-haired lord only shrugged in response, but suddenly turned back to him and fixed him with an intense stare. "Show me," he demanded suddenly, his voice cool as a brook running over stones.

"Show you what?" asked Merlin, his confusion and patience for this sort of thing this early, wearing thin. Brom seated himself on the edge of the table and gave him a look of genuine interest.

"Show me your magic."

The warlock felt a riot of fear and something kin to excitement rise in him at the other's words, and all anger at what had gone on the night before was momentarily deflected. Brom wanted him to show him his magic? His fingertips twitched and something deep with the center of himself, tugged hard, yearning to be unchained. Fear took precedence. "No," he whispered, backing up until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. "I can't."

Brom stood and approached slowly, almost cautiously, as if he were afraid he might scare Merlin away. He raised his hand and brushed his thumb across the high plane of Merlin's cheekbone, trailing down that long neck, to rest the pads of his fingers lightly on his prominent collarbone. "Show me," he again demanded in a soft voice. "I'm not afraid of it. Use it," he sucked directly over the sorcerer's Adam's apple, and Merlin's breath was suddenly ragged and loud in his ears. "I know you want to use it. Let it fill you, consume you..."

Merlin could feel himself begin to unravel in a way he'd never been undone before. It felt like his nature - his true nature - was fighting for control. It felt like he was slipping, losing control to what lived within him, untamed and wild: _magic_.

"I know you enjoyed yourself last night," whispered Brom, his words ghosting across the skin of Merlin's neck as he lay a kiss over the ugly bruise he'd made the night before. "I could tell that _some_ part of you liked it, at least. Let me see that part, Merlin. _Show me_." He straightened and looked into the warlock's eyes. "You don't have to be afraid with me. Show me."

Brom's voice was compelling. Would it really be that easy? Could he let go and be free with himself instead of keeping his true nature chained so tightly? Merlin felt himself slipping, memories of the pain and pleasure from the night before warping into something he hadn't quite figured out...

..."give up your control to me," said the aristocrat, his voice sliding through the air like a knife with a velvet edge. "Let me take it from you. Show me what you really are...show me what you could never show Arthur."

Merlin was so tired of it. He was exhausted from the night before, confused about whether or not some part of him had liked it, and was generally worn out by having to pretend he was something other than what he was. Brom was right; he could never do this with Arthur. He could never show him what he really was.

And here Brom was asking to be shown.

The warlock let his head fall back as his eyes turned golden.

***

The air was literally charged with energy and Merlin wrapped himself in it, drunk with the exhilarating feel of his _magic_ free and unrestrained. It flowed from him and around him, cocooning him in a blissful haze. He was spread out on the bed, his long legs wrapped around Brom's waist, the heels of his feet digging into the small of the other man's back. Every inch of his body tingled with power and he used it in a way he never had, to enhance the moment.

He felt every bit of pleasure as Brom rocked into him. He was aware of every bead of sweat that rolled down his skin. He heard every harsh breath, every grunt, every moan that he emitted. He felt the roll of Brom's muscles with every inch of his body. He felt every bite, the other's teeth scraping his skin until it bled, acutely.

And the pain was goddamn _delicious_.

It was something else entirely than what it had been the night before or even before that, with Arthur. It was a primordial feeling, the act of mate-claiming and something else, something dark...something positively _sinister_.

Merlin was delirious with the feeling of it all.

And when Brom sliced into the underside of his arm with a razor between his teeth, his blood flowing out and over his pale skin, the warlock came harder than he ever had before.

In that moment, he felt the freest he'd ever felt in his whole life.

He let his eyes close for a moment and missed the cold, calculating expression that crossed Brom's face as he dropped over the edge and spilled himself deep into Merlin's body.

***

When he had gathered enough of his wits around him to move, Merlin felt only guilt and humiliation. He fled Brom's room and the aristocrat let him go without a word.

When the door closed, Brom began to laugh with biting, humorless laughter. He flopped back onto the bed, still naked and sweaty, surrounded by the residual crackle of _something else_ in the air and the smell of sex. It had been more of a turn on than he had expected to see Merlin spread out beneath him, completely unhinged and under _his_ control.

Thinking about it made the young lord hard again, so he took himself in hand and sucked the warlock's dried blood off of the razor's edge.

And tasting _that_ while imagining how many ways he could make Merlin loose all control of himself, made Brom feel more than he had in years.

***

Merlin fled the castle altogether once he had passed the threshold of Brom's room into the hallway. Everything was a blur around him as he ran, heedless of shouts or curses that trailed in his wake.

He felt filthy, utterly filthy. How could he have gone to Brom's bed after everything that had happened the night before? How could he have _enjoyed_ it? Deep within him, a silky voice whispered that it was because that debauched, writhing _whore_, was the real him.

Was it?

He just didn't know anymore.

Halfway to nowhere, Merlin lost his legs from under him and fell hard to the dirt. Then, with little grace, he retched. He continued to do so until he could only throw up clear bile, and even after that he continued heave dryly onto the ground.

Why had his world turned on its ear? Things had been perfectly fine before Brom had come along. Sure, Arthur hadn't really ever cared for him, but Merlin could have lived with that. Really, he could have.

The lie actually tasted worse than the bile in his mouth.

It just would have been better if Brom had never come along and made that stupid bet. And yet...

He could feel hot tears in his eyes and scrubbed the heels of his palms against his face, willing away his doubt.

He didn't hear the footsteps behind him until he felt a pair of arms wrap around his chest and coax him back into a solid chest. Merlin flinched away, thinking that it was Brom, but was instantly stilled by a familiar voice.

"Merlin, it's me."

"Arthur," he said somewhat dazedly, and allowed himself to pulled into the prince's lap. For a moment he let himself sag against him, letting the feel of Arthur's arms around him become familiar again. Hefisted his hands on his thighs and willed the world to drop away, taking he and Arthur with it.

And for a moment, all was well.

***

Eventually they had to talk. Merlin drew himself away from the prince and looked at him, noting how pale and drawn the blonde looked, as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days - possibly weeks. His hair was in a word, disheveled, and there was a look of regret and uncertainty in his sky blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Arthur finally blurted and heaved a great sigh. "I've gone and royally screwed things up."

A few weeks ago Merlin might have answered differently. Instead he replied, "Yeah, you have." At Arthur's hurt expression he dipped his head and looked away. "Maybe the fairer statement is that we both did."

They sat in silence for a while after that, prince and former manservant, and felt the weight of the situation sink fully in.

"I won't let him take you from me," stated Arthur with a finality that Merlin knew meant he hadn't thought it through.

"How?" he asked, glancing at the prince.

Arthur slid his eyes away. "I'll figure out something," he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "I'll just tell my father that I won't let it happen."

"Oh, that'll go over well," sighed Merlin with a slight roll of his eyes.

"Well what do you want me to do, _Mer_lin?" snapped Arthur, reaching forward and taking him by the arm. "What would you have me do?" He sighed and let his hand drop. "I would do anything."

Merlin swallowed, feeling hope wage war with the anger and hurt that he still felt towards the prince. "Did you really mean what you said last night?" he questioned, fixing Arthur with a steady look.

"Not a word," said Arthur with enough grace to look truly apologetic.

"Then why?"

"Because..." he forced a long breath between his teeth, words and fear of the truth wrestling with his tongue. "Because I don't want to lose you Merlin. Because..." he took Merlin's face between his hands, "I care about you more than I thought was possible."

The warlock let out a tremulous sigh and let his eyes drift shut as Arthur's breath ghosted across his lips. He tilted his face up and kissed him.

Unlike kissing Brom, who plundered his mouth with enough force to be considered violent, Arthur was gentle, almost delicate. He found himself wanting the faintest spike of pain with the kiss and was immediately ashamed of himself. He broke away and sat back, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What is it, Merlin?" asked Arthur.

"It's nothing," he said evasively, not missing the quick ripple of annoyance that crossed the prince's features. Just as the blonde was about to demand he confess something - he could see the order burning behind Arthur's blue eyes - Merlin interrupted him. "Tell me something," he said.

Arthur was effectively sidetracked. "Err, what?" he replied.

"Tell me about you and Brom...what's gone on between you two?"

This was not a line of conversation the prince wanted to pursue - that much was obvious. He made a displeased noise - of all the things for that idiot to ask! - and then asked gruffly, "Will this help fix things between us? If I tell you?"

Merlin was surprised, but nodded. "It's a start, Arthur. I need to know."

Arthur nodded curtly and looked away from him, every line of his jaw and neck taut with tension. "Then I'll tell you."

Merlin settled back, his palms splayed in the dirt, and waited for Arthur to continue.

After what seemed like a painfully l long moment of silence, the prince began to speak. "Brom and I weren't always so hateful towards one another. At one time we used to be friends - blood brothers in fact." The prince, glancing around to make sure that they were alone in their little secluded section of the castle grounds, stood and unfastened his breeches. At Merlin's wide-eyed look he rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not doing anything lewd," he muttered. Arthur tugged down his pants and pulled up the material of his smallclothes until the skin of his right thigh was revealed.

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face. There, on Arthur's inner thigh, was a faded replica of the heart he had carved into his back.

"Brom has one too," said Arthur, pulling his britches back up. "On his left thigh. I put it there."

***

(To be continued...)


	15. Black Holes and Revelations

**Title:** All Bets Off: Chapter 14 – "Black Holes and Revelations"  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** Everything up to and including Season 2, episode one. just to be safe, angst, probable dub-con and/or sadomasochism  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin(eventual), Merlin/OMC(**dub-con**)  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count:** 3656  
**Summary:** When Arthur is tricked into a bet and loses, too late he realizes that he has just lost the most precious thing to him: _Merlin_

**A/N**: Holy shit, is it really Chapter 14? This has certainly been quite a journey, hasn't it? I've _still_ got that damn fic exchange for SPN that I have to finish, so I may delay the final chapter. I'm deciding if I should wait for the sequel until after the holidays. Yes/No?

I hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter 14: "Black Holes and Revelations"**

_Merlin felt the blood drain from his face. There, on Arthur's inner thigh, was a faded replica of the heart he had carved into his back._

_"Brom has one too," said Arthur, pulling his britches back up. "On his left thigh. I put it there."_

***

Arthur fell silent when he saw the expression that had pulled the corners of Merlin's mouth downwards. The other's blue eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, and he could see the unspoken questions warring in the subtle quiver of his lips. The prince held up a hand to forestall anything that Merlin might have said. "Just let me talk," he said, sharper than intended.

His nerves felt frayed, as if he'd shredded them into thin, jagged strips with a boning knife. This wasn't something he'd wanted to speak about with anybody. Not since..._that day_.

The prince inhaled a steadying breath through his nostrils, drawing the air deep into his lungs as he might do to calm his nerves before a duel or a joust. It helped to clear the haphazard clutter of his thoughts. It helped to give him the necessary focus. When he glanced at Merlin, however, he suddenly realized that he was the last person he wished to be telling this to.

Nevertheless, he did.

"I never had many friends, you know. There was Morgana after a time and the sons of servants who were tasked to play with me, but I never had anyone who was truly a friend." Arthur dropped lightly to a cross-legged slouch on the ground, and continued. "I was ten when I met Brom and it was different. _He_ was different. He was two years older than me and lower in rank, but it didn't make a difference to him. He didn't treat me like the others did." The prince slid his gaze towards Merlin, and glanced away again, slightly uncomfortable. "Brom didn't fear me," he continued in a low murmur. " He treated me like any regular person when we weren't under the our fathers' watchful eyes."

"Why?" asked Merlin, leaning forward slightly. His forehead creased as he frowned slightly. "Wouldn't you demand his respect?"

Arthur shook his head, wisps of blonde hair catching and reflecting the sunlight like spun gold. "I don't know if I can explain it...I guess, it's a lot of what I saw in you when I first met you. Status meant nothing to you - and it means less to Brom. _He_ determined whether someone was worthy of his time or his consideration. When everyone else catered to my every whim...he didn't." The prince searched for the right words to explain himself, but failed. "It was just different," he finished a bit lamely.

"So you liked it?" questioned Merlin in a slightly incredulous tone and a quirk of one dark brow.

"Hated it," replied Arthur with a ghost of a smile. "Brom always knew how to press my buttons. But all the same, he treated me like an equal. When we played, it was like I was really playing with a friend - not someone who was forced to indulge me."

"When did you...you know?" Merlin's eyes dropped to the spot on Arthur's thigh, where the heart was etched in scarred skin.

"He had the idea after I turned thirteen. Coming of age, he said. We'd be blood brothers. We'd be exclusive...special. We'd have something that belonged to us alone and to eachother." Merlin shot him an unhappy look at his revelation.

Arthur felt a twinge of exasperation sweep through him, but did his best to check his temper. "I didn't have the luxury of dallying with the serving wenches, _Mer_lin," he grumbled, briefly falling back into their usual banter. "If I'd produced a bastard at any age, that would've been a terrible headache for my father."

Merlin didn't reply at first, but after a moment he offered a quiet, "Okay." How could he, when mere hours ago he'd been writhing and sweating beneath the very person Arthur was speaking about, get upset about the prince's past? He felt a dull heat rise in him as he remembered the events of that morning, and bit the inside of his cheek as he motioned for Arthur to continue.

"Brom was my first kiss, you know," said Arthur musingly, though a dark look rippled across his mien. "Anyhow, one night when our fathers were reminiscing about battle and deep into their cups, Brom stole a cask of small beer and we went out to the," he paused and swallowed, "the orchard."

Merlin uttered a very quiet, "Oh." The tips of his ears colored at the memory of his own time in the orchard with Brom. Judging by the sour look on Arthur's face, the prince remembered too.

"It was private enough, to say the least," continued the blonde, plowing ahead. "And after half a cask of alcohol, the idea didn't seem so bad. So I did it." Arthur heaved a sigh, and tugged his calloused fingers through his pale locks. "Afterward, Brom told me there was another coming of age ritual," he murmured, his voice a low burr as his mouth formed a hard, tense line, "and we did _that_ too."

Merlin's brows shot up, but he managed to keep his voice steady when he spoke. "So you and he...?"

Arthur nodded and his mouth drew into an even thinner line. "Yes," he answered, pushing the word quickly through his lips. "And that's why I never wanted to let you..." he trailed off, and drew himself ramrod straight where he sat.

"I-" Merlin drew a breath, working to force the air past the sudden thickness in his throat, before he could continue. "I see," he managed, looking at Arthur, noting the stiff set of the prince's jaw and shoulders. "I understand."

Arthur looked quickly at him, then slid his eyes away and relaxed minutely. "It was different after that," he said, his voice regaining some of its strength, "_Brom_ was different." He stared out towards nothing in particular and let the memories form his words. "He was violent, but never towards me. I guess in some capacity he knew he couldn't hurt me directly." Arthur paused and turned to again look at Merlin, with a distinctly haunted expression spread across his handsome features. "He hurt _other_ things instead. It started with a stray cat he had found and escalated from there."

"A cat?" repeated Merlin absently, his own gaze distant as he tried to digest all that Arthur was telling him.

"A stray from the town," confided the blonde, "and he strung it up in burlap sack."

Merlin's head snapped around quickly at Arthur's words.

The prince took a deep breath. Even now, even when the passage of time should have dulled his memory of it, a sense of dread still bubbled in the pit of his stomach. "Then Brom hung the cat over a fire he'd made in the forest, in the one of the secluded areas that we used to play and make forts in." Arthur shut his eyes against the memory. "I'll never forget the sound of the cat's yowling as it was slowly cooked alive. Or the smell."

"Why didn't you do anything?" Merlin blurted, his face twisting in horror at the act and sympathy at the cat's plight.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Part of me was horrified and disgusted by the whole thing. Part of me was curious. But what really got to me, was what Brom said later. He told me that he liked to see how far something would go to survive or protect something that was vital to it. He actually looked the slightest bit remorseful that the cat couldn't find its way out of the sack." Arthur shook his head, as if still mystified by the whole thing. "He buried the cat's remains nearby, and as he did so, he said that he guessed the cat hadn't wanted to keep his life, badly enough."

Something must have fluttered across Merlin's face, because Arthur suddenly rounded on him, his voice laced with annoyance. "Don't tell me you buy that load of bull!" he growled, jabbing a finger in his direction. "What Brom did was sick, Merlin."

The warlock, for his part, agreed. But a small, secret part of him saw the gruesome logic behind it. "Of course I don't," he retorted, two spots of ruddy color appearing on the apples of his cheeks, "I know the difference between right and wrong when I see it!"

_'Do you?' whispered a voice like silk-wrapped-steel. 'Are you sure about that?'_

Arthur sighed and put his head in his hands, his shoulders rigid with tension. "I'm sorry, it's just...I've seen Brom do some awful things."

"But you stayed friends with him," urged Merlin, tilting towards the prince, "why?"

"I can't really say...but Brom never did anything directly to me. I knew it was wrong, but I was selfish enough to believe that as long as he didn't hurt something of _mine_ it wasn't so bad." He paused and his voice became unnaturally flat and serious. "But then, he hurt more than just animals."

Before Merlin could stop himself, a soft gasp slipped between his lips. Arthur ignored it.

"I found him in the forest with blood on his hands, in his hair...just _everywhere_. I thought he'd killed something large, like a deer maybe, but when I got closer I saw it was a boy around my age." The prince's voice became even colder. "The kid was scored with cuts and burns, and pieces of his skin had been flayed to the bone. And Brom was sitting by the corpse, covered in blood, _crying_."

"What?!" exclaimed Merlin, clearly and understandably startled.

"He begged me to help him," Arthur continued in that disturbingly flat voice, "he told me he couldn't stop, that he could see their souls and that he could _control_ them, when he did this."

"What did you do?"

"I ran away and never looked back. And after that I didn't speak to him if I could help it." The prince seemed to physically pull himself from the memory had gripped him and shook his head violently. "I guess he buried the body because he came back a few hours later, soaking from head to toe like he'd been taking a swim in full clothing. He never mentioned what happened, but since then, we've hated eachother."

Merlin crept forward and, after hesitating for just a moment, slid his arms around Arthur's chest and buried his face in his neck. He felt the prince fight to remain tense, his whole body verily trembling with the effort before he loosed a very soft sigh and let the tension ebb from him.

"You did the right thing," the warlock assured him.

"Did I really?" Arthur murmured against Merlin's dark hair. "Because sometimes I can't help but think I helped to make Brom what he is."

***

It wasn't something spoken between them, but rather an unspoken agreement they'd both come to, as they came to a halt outside of Arthur's door. The walk there had been made in silence, but there was something almost living that writhed between them. It drew them unerringly towards the prince's room and pushed them inside.

The lock snicked shut and the silence seemed to pound in Merlin's ears in time with the thud of his heart. His thoughts were tumultuous and loaded with all he'd learned, and he felt himself two parts divided.

The silence grew and warped around them, until the warlock felt that he could part it with his fingers. Suddenly, he was aware of his own jagged breathing as Arthur took him by the wrist and tugged him towards him.

They fell together, still not a single word exchanged between them. The silence of the room was magnified, a living creature that pulsed and shifted, by the loudness of their shared breath. Somehow, they stumbled to Arthur's lavish bed and fell upon it, the mattress yielding heavily beneath their combined weight.

Merlin's breath stuttered when Arthur plucked at his shirt, and drew it up and off of him, revealing his pale, bruise-peppered skin and the fresh cut healing on the underside of his arm. The warlock could feel his shame rise in the form of high color across the tips of his ears, as Arthur stared down at him with an unreadable expression. Something passed over the prince's face; s a kind of grim acceptance, imbued with a stark bolt of anger. When he lowered his head, the look in his eyes was obscure and serious. He caught Merlin's fingers with his own and stopped him from moving away.

Instead, Arthur lowered his mouth and lay a gentle, soft kiss over the darkest bruise on Merlin's shoulder. The warlock's blood thundered through his ears, panic, shame, and something he'd briefly forgotten, rushing through him all at once.

He almost missed what Arthur said; _almost_.

Merlin drew back and looked at the other with question in his eyes. Now it was the prince's turn to blush, but somehow he managed to look the least bit dignified while doing it. It was something Merlin could never hope to achieve.

"Are you sure?" he asked, doubt causing his voice catch as it scraped along his suddenly dry throat.

"Yes."

The word hung in the air, weighted and brimming with something so profound that spilled over the edges and seeped down into the skin.

Arthur rolled them so that he was beneath his former servant, a thread of nervousness lurking in the corners of his eyes. Merlin's his breath came quickly and unsteadily as he fumbled with the nightstand drawer to draw out the small jar of oil that Arthur kept there. When he turned back towards the prince - who was leaning back and regarding him with a resolute expression - he felt the enormity of what Arthur was asking him to do come crashing down on him.

For one, outrageous moment, Merlin didn't know what to do first. He wanted to touch everywhere at once. He wanted to push and slide against sweat-lubed skin. He wanted to _taste_.

Arthur's face was beginning to lose some of its resoluteness, and Merlin leaned over him and kissed him soundly, trying to find that familiar rhythm his lips knew so well.

***

Their coming together was imperfect and awkward, though the moments of clumsiness were smoothed over by tongues and fingers and lips; all weaving, darting, and daring. Merlin took Arthur without finesse, but as the pair moved against one another, the prince eventually relaxed and lines of tension and subtle pain were swept from his face.

Throughout it all, they didn't speak except for throaty moans, grating breaths, and the drum beat of flesh against flesh. Arthur came first, a cry so ragged and broken ripping straight from the center of his being as he spilled himself over Merlin's hand and his stomach, that it pulled Merlin along with it. He pushed himself hard against the body beneath him and bit his lip, tasting the fainest copper tang of blood as he lost himself to bliss.

***

Long after - too long after - Merlin eventually dragged himself from Arthur's bed and began to dress. The prince was curled on his side, his face slack with sleep as he snored lightly into his pillows. In that moment Arthur looked younger, more innocent, and less world-weary than the warlock was used to seeing. He was seized by the sudden impulse to lean down and kiss him, which he indulged.

"I love you Arthur," he murmured.

It was close on dusk by that time and not only had Merlin missed bringing Brom his lunch, he would be tardy in bringing him dinner too. Slowly, the confusion of everything that had gone on that morning and the shock of what he'd learned from Arthur, began to bleed back into his consciousness. He'd gotten half way across the room when the prince called out to him from the bed.

"Come back to bed, Merlin," grumbled Arthur, sitting with a stifled yawn. The warlock looked back towards the blonde and shot him a slight grin.

"I have to bring Brom his dinner," he mumbled, "and your new manservant will be bringing yours shortly."

Arthur frowned at the mention of Brom's name. "Don't worry, I'll figure something out. I'll make it right somehow."

Merlin just nodded silently and turned to go again.

"Merlin?"

The dark-haired boy looked back and met Arthur's eyes.

"Spend the afternoon with me again?"

Now Merlin actually cracked an honest smile. "I'd love to."

***

Merlin could tell that Brom was less than pleased when he entered his chambers. The air was hot in the aristocrat's chambers, or perhaps it was the sudden feverish feeling that swept him when he unconsciously looked towards the bed. The sheets were still tangled and the pillows were strewn about in utter disorder.

Brom regarded Merlin with an keen expression, as if he were carefully sorting through the contents of his mind and examining each piece of evidence he found carefully. "I missed you this afternoon, Merlin," said he in a soft, dangerous voice.

Despite himself, despite the raw power that he wielded at his fingertips, the cadence of Brom's voice struck Merlin on a very primitive level. He felt caught in indecision, torn between flight, fight, and maybe something else.

"I take it you spent the afternoon with Arthur?"

"Why would you think that, m'lord?" asked Merlin, the words stumbling from his lips.

"Am I wrong?" replied Brom, ignoring the question. The look on the warlock's spoke volumes.

Without warning and faster than he would have anticipated, Brom caught Merlin with a closed fist across the side of the face. "You will learn to obey, understand? You will learn that you belong to me."

Merlin clutched the side of his face but managed to keep his feet. He shot Brom a hard, angry look. "I know what went on with you and Arthur," he said, his voice harsh with two parts fury and one part pain. "This can't go on forever, Brom. I'll only ever serve Arthur - truly - okay? Whatever you think is between us...whatever I ever thought was between us...I was mistaken."

"Merlin," sighed Brom, smiling now. It was a terrible, wretched smile and it made shot a jolt of electricity down the length of the warlock's spine. "You disappoint me so. But you have a magnificently stubborn head on that long neck of yours. I was right when I first met you, you know - we're going to have _a lot_ of fun together. Even more than before."

"Brom," said Merlin, a tiny note of sympathy curling around the word, "I know you once asked Arthur to help you. I'm sorry he didn't...but maybe you can be helped now. I can't be your manservant or your lover, but maybe I can help to...fix you."

The aristocrat tossed back his head and laughed. "Oh my little sorcerer, how misguided you are." He waved a hand dismissively. "You may go now, thank you Merlin."

Merlin didn't need to be ordered twice. He retreated from Brom's company with only one, somewhat perplexed glance back. Brom simply grinned at him.

When the door shut, the grin vanished from the aristocrat's face and became a cold, expressionless mask.

"Now you've gone and forced my hand."

(To be continued)


	16. The Day The World Went Away

**A/N**: I'm sorry for the delay in this final chapter! That SPN fic grew to be a mini-monster of a story and for a while the words just weren't piecing together correctly. But here it is - the FINAL chapter of All Bet's Off. Thank you for reading and yes, there is a sequel in the works. :)  
**A/N 2**: I've had to rewrite author's note #1 so many times to accommodate for my tardiness. Because I've been so tardy in getting this chapter out, I've tacked on the epilogue to the end of this instead of waiting to post it tomorrow as it is Christmas Eve. Anyway, to all who are reading this, **HAPPY HOLIDAYS!**

I hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter 15: "The Day the World Went Away " **

***

There is a saying: _"For every action, there is a reaction."_

There is also another: _"Turnabout is fair play…_

***

The darkness of Arthur's mind was stitched in whispers.

They sighed around him and slipped down, down, down, into the crevices of his skin. They licked a stripe across the back of one knee and rolled a laugh across his stomach. The whispers beckoned him, the words caressing his inner thigh as the gloom pulled him deeper, deeper, deeper...

_"Help us, help us, help us,"_ the darkness sighed as one, a formless and faceless chorus in a play Arthur couldn't see. The shadows knit tighter around him and pulled deliciously snug against his bare form. He reached a hand out towards nothing, his fingers sliding through the velvet black as if to glean the feel of it.

In some ways he could, though not quite; he couldn't place the texture at all.

It was all at once smooth and cold around the sudden burn of his skin, though occasionally it would feel slick and oily along the tips of his fingers.

"What do you want?" asked Arthur. His voice sounded strange as it folded gently into the surrounding dark and he almost didn't recognize it.

Part of him knew he this was a dream. Another part of him, as the darkness pressed against his throat, wasn't so sure. Something around him shifted and there a subtle twitch of danger against the back of his neck. Suddenly the darkness felt different and slowly, everything began to tilt towards nightmare.

A primitive, flight or fight panic screamed through him as all around, the darkness began to _breathe_ in time with rapid beat of his heart. Arthur struggled to wake himself as the shadows began to chant, the sound dragging through his hair in a singsong, childlike cadence.

_'There once was a girl with braids in her hair,  
She held a knife to her wrists - oh! Her skin was so fair.'_

A jagged shard of recognition sliced into Arthur's awareness. He staggered forward and violently shook his head as a memory began to dislodge from the tangle of his mind.

He'd _heard_ this before...

_'She smiled and laughed as her blood spilled rose red,  
And when I looked at her eyes they were already dead.'_

The darkness now felt tacky as it coiled against him and left a sticky film in its wake wherever it touched. Arthur didn't like the sensation at all, but he was rooted to the spot, held by the singsong whispers as they continued to chant the disturbingly familiar rhyme.

_'Why mother?' I cried, ' Please let me go too!'  
'Dear son,' she replied, 'I do this for you.'_

Arthur pitched forward as if the words had physically shoved him. It couldn't be...why would he remember this _now_? It'd been years...

_'I hate you,' she smiled, 'such a naughty bad boy,'  
'Terrible and broken, like an unwanted toy._

Arthur began to run. He didn't want to hear anymore. The whispers followed him, crying out with a staccato roll of high-pitched hyena laughter. The darkness hounded his steps.

That was the past, this was a dream, he needed to WAKE UP.

_'I reached for her weeping, 'Don't leave me!' I cried.  
But she dug the knife deeper - laughing - and died.'_

The shadows filled with a cacophony of noise that Arthur couldn't quite place. It sounded like the grinding of metal against stone, tucked into the chorus of a murder of crows screaming all at once. Arthur covered his ears as the sound beat down upon him. Suddenly, the darkness parted around him, like a curtain opening to the opening act of an episode in a play.

He stopped short as he almost walked into a young man whose face and form was etched in such vivid detail, that he could have the counted individual strands of auburn hair that fell messily to his shoulders.

The young man was kneeling over the corpse of a mutilated boy, looking down at his red-stained hands, which were curled in his lap. He was crying, and his shoulders shook violently with the force of his sobs as tears mingled with blood in the lines of his palms. As Arthur watched the familiar scene play out, the other man picked up a knife that had been placed carefully next to the corpse and ran his thumb along the red-slicked edge. When he pressed the pad of his thumb hard against the blade, Arthur watched, helplessly fascinated, as the other man's blood welled bright red from the cut and trickled down his wrist.

Then the young man leaned forward, and began, with somewhat clumsy motions, to whittle the flesh away from the dead boy's ribs. Arthur could feel the pale hairs on his arms stand on end when the youth began to whisper in a low, silky voice to the corpse.

"There once was a girl with braids in her hair,  
She held a knife to her wrists, oh! Her skin was so fair!  
She laughed and she smiled as her blood ran rose red,  
And when I looked at her eyes they were already dead.  
'Why mother?' I cried, 'Please let me go too!'  
'Dear son,' she replied, 'I do this for you.'  
'I hate you,' she smiled, 'such a naughty bad boy,'  
'Terrible and broken, like an unwanted toy.'  
I reached for her weeping, 'Don't leave me!' I cried,  
But she dug the knife deeper - laughing - and died."

The corpse suddenly turned its head and looked up at Arthur through gummy, blood-shot eyes. "Help me, Arthur," it moaned, its voice seething from cracked lips harsh and rough like its throat had been scraped raw, "I can't stop."

***

Arthur woke with a violent jerk in the strange, grayish light that could either be twilight or early morning. His limbs were tangled in his sheets and his hair was matted with sweat. He drew in a huge breath of air, trying and failing to keep his hands from shaking as he smoothed his fingers over the comforter in agitation.

He'd thought that maybe by telling Merlin about what had happened between he and Brom, he would be able to finally purge the horrible memories from his mind. Yet here he was, having nightmares about them - _again_.

The prince unwound himself from his damp sheets and rose from the bed, restless. He paced aimlessly around his chamber, casting the occasional glance towards the inviting warmth of the blankets. He couldn't hold back a tired sigh; as inviting as the prospect of falling back into bed might be, the nightmare was there every time he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds.

After that day in the woods, Arthur had had nightmares about what he'd seen. He'd dreamed incessantly of Brom, the dead boy, and that stupid rhyme. He'd always woken feeling shaken to the core and guilty as sin. This time was no exception.

"It wasn't my fault," Arthur breathed to the empty room as he sunk down on the edge of the bed.

His words hung uncertainly in the still air and were swallowed by the heavy silence.

***

Sweat soaked the Arthur's blonde hair from roots to tips as the sun, even as oblique as it was in the changing season, beat down harshly upon practice field. He felt sure of himself, cocky even, (which in and of itself wasn't unusual), but his mood was also bolstered by the fact that he would be seeing Merlin in only a few hours.

He felt something twist through him - a giddy sort of excitement that chased away the worry of earlier that morning. The nightmare had left him a bit shaken still, but the thought of seeing Merlin - touching him, licking him, kissing him - alleviated that feeling a little. He parried a downward chop - sloppy - and returned blows, bringing the knight he was sparring with down to the ground quickly and efficiently.

"That's enough for today," announced Arthur as he hooked a thumb beneath the heavy rim of his visor and lifted it. He was ending practice a little early, true, but judging from the manner in which his knights' shoulders were heaving and the heavy smell of sweat and body odor lingering in the air, he didn't think he would be met with any argument.

He was right.

Arthur forced himself to depart the practice field at a dignified pace, though every few steps or so his foot would twitch and he'd tip forward, almost as if his body was forcibly being tugged towards his bedroom - towards Merlin. The memories of the day before didn't come flooding back to him as he might have expected. Instead they trickled back in snatches and loitered somewhere in the forefront of his mind for a while before sliding hazily away.

Over breakfast he'd remembered the play of muscle beneath Merlin's milk-pale skin under his fingers tips. During practice he felt the slide of the other's tongue over his lips and teeth as he remembered how had Merlin kissed him for all he was worth. When he broke a sweat beneath the sun's burning eye, he recalled the taste of Merlin as he sucked the salt from his skin where it pooled in the small dip of his back. And now, Arthur's stride faltered for a moment as he remembered the moment Merlin entered him, the stretch and sting of it; the fullness...the _heat_.

A flash of warmth prickled along his neck and cheeks at the memory, and Arthur hurried a little faster to his chambers. Perhaps there would be time to get washed up before Merlin came by. He smirked; if Merlin was anything, it _wasn't_ punctual.

He should have plenty of time.

***

It turned out that Arthur was correct in his assumption: he had had plenty of time to wash himself up before Merlin came - and then some.

In fact, he was in a right state of agitation as he glanced at the door for the umpteenth time and then at the spot across from him, which was irritatingly empty except for a cold bowl of soup and some equally cold meat. Nearby, Rommel - Merlin's temporary replacement - hovered unobtrusively by the door, ever at the ready to pour him more wine or feed him grapes by hand, if he'd so wished.

It was strange, really: if Merlin had been in Rommel's place, Arthur was sure he would have been making an awful racket. Most likely he would have been doing an abysmal job at some chore, all the while cheerily talking his ear off about something or other that Gaius had done that morning. Or maybe he would have been telling Arthur how much his boots stank or that he should try to sweat less in his clothes at practice.

Arthur smiled, then scowled when he realized he was having an overly fond thought about something that should be so irritating. As soon as Merlin was back in his service, he would have to have a long chat with him - again - about the roles of menservants and princes.

"Something wrong, m'lord?" asked Rommel, ever attentive.

"No, nothing," said Arthur dismissively, though he glared intently for a few moments at the empty spot across from him. His pale brows drew together in concentration, as if he were trying to will his fool of a former manservant to suddenly materialize in the seat. He sighed and sat back in his chair, then waved a hand at his partially eaten plate of food. "You may clear this now," he grumbled, feeling the bite of rejection sharpen the edges of his words, "and after you're done, find that idiot Merlin and bring him to me." He glared up at Rommel and pinned him with an icy stare that his father would be proud of. "Bring him to me straight away - I don't care if he's doing something for lord Aurelianus, I have an issue of the utmost urgency to discuss with him."

Rommel nodded and only replied with a prompt, "Of course, sire, straight away," before hurrying off through the doors.

Arthur was left alone with only a sour taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the quality of the food he'd just eaten. Why would Merlin stand him up like that? Sure, not everything was perfect between them just yet, but yesterday had been rife with admissions and breakthroughs - on his part, at least - so he didn't think he deserved to be ignored like _this_.

Perhaps Brom had detained him somehow...? A dark expression crossed the prince's features at the thought; that had to be the reason. There was no way that Merlin would purposefully do that to him - he was sure of it. Suddenly a panic seized him and Arthur strode from the room, intent on finding Merlin that very instant.

After all, he'd seen what Brom Aurelianus could do when something slipped out of his control or when he was simply bored, and it was never a pretty sight.

Arthur's fist clenched at his side and servants slid quickly out of his way as he stormed through the hallways - if Brom had done something to Merlin, nothing could keep him from spilling blood.

Nothing.

***

By the time the sun had begun to sag tiredly below the horizon, Arthur was wound tight with a panic and rage that was etched clearly across his handsome face.

_Merlin was nowhere to be found._.

He'd looked everywhere: the stables, the woods, the orchard - even the local tavern where Merlin sometimes snuck off to drink a ginger beer and chat with one of the older barmaids who doted on him. (He thought that Arthur didn't know but Arthur wasn't _that_ much of an idiot.) At least he thought he wasn't, but he'd somehow managed to lose someone that he hadn't realized until recently, was so important to him - figuratively, and now it seemed, literally.

"Where are you, Merlin?" muttered Arthur. His mind was entertaining ludicrous and terrible thoughts as all of the dread from earlier that morning came crashing back down upon him. A sort of fear he wasn't familiar with was beginning to loop itself in Byzantine knots in the pit of his stomach as he turned his feet on a path towards his father's quarters.

It was a sort of fear that was far different than the usual adrenaline-soaked moments of self-preservation he felt in the midst of battle. It wasn't the primitive fear that had flooded him when he was dangling precariously from a ledge over a chasm too deep for the eye to see, either.

It was more than that.

This was a type of fear that was decidedly more complicated - it was fear that was greater than himself. He knew right then, as his footsteps echoed hollowly off of the cold stone walls, that he would absolutely anything to keep Merlin with him because, damnit, he _loved_ the stubborn fool.

He loved Merlin?

Well he'd known that for some time now but somehow, right then, it didn't seem nearly as terrifying a thought as completely losing him was. When he found the damned idiot, he'd tell him that too.

Oddly, it felt like Arthur could feel the wood shiver and tremor beneath the palm of his hand as he pushed against the heavy door of his father's antechamber. The pulse matched the beat of his heart, which had increased He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and entered.

***

The atmosphere inside of his father's chambers was stifled and closed, like a blacksmith's bellows had sucked all of the usable air from it. At least that's how it felt to Arthur. His lungs felt as if a specter's bony fingers were squeezing the breath from each one and his legs felt momentarily weak as he looked at his father in disbelief.

"C-come again?" he asked, coloring, ashamed at how weak his voice sounded.

"I've sent Merlin away," repeated Uther in a perfectly even and unaffected tone. Arthur's eyes narrowed into ice-blue slits; his father had been practicing this. He pulled himself straighter, conscience of his father's eyes sweeping him from head to toe in critical assessment, before folding his arms across his chest.

He glared for all he was worth and bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the metallic flavor of his own blood. "Why?" he challenged.

His father was unimpressed. "Because I told you, Arthur, that I would have to take action if you ever became too attached to that _servant_. Brom told me he saw Merlin leaving your quarters late last evening looking rumpled...and I for one believe what he saw."

"What gave you the right?" cried Arthur, his voice breaking slightly as the enormity of what Uther had revealed finally caught up with him. ._gone_. Without thinking, emotion carrying him forward before he could stop his hands, he grabbed a fistful of his father's tunic and brought their faces close. "Bring him back!"

Arthur realized that he sounded like a petulant child in that moment, but he couldn't care less. All he wanted was for this to be fixed. All he could think to do was push and rant and bully until he got what he wanted: and what he wanted, was Merlin back at his side that very instant.

Uther held a staying hand to the guards who had moved forward nervously when Arthur had grabbed the king in a forceful grip. His gaze, however, never wavered from his son's face. When he spoke, his words bore a regal calm that Arthur knew and hated, because it meant that his father had made up his mind. "I will not," said Uther in a tone as cool and as smooth as glass. "You must learn that there are consequences for your actions, Arthur, even if you are the Crown Prince." Uther curled his fingers over Arthur's, and he snatched his hands back as if they'd been burned.

"The way you've been acting these past few weeks is incorrigible," continued Uther as he smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt, "and your conduct has been unacceptable."

"Trying to protect Merlin from a monster like Brom is unacceptable conduct?" spat Arthur in reply, his expression both furious and incredulous, "I'd do it again if I had to."

"That's exactly why I've sent him away," exclaimed his father, his voice rising as his temper rose to match Arthur's in spades, "because it is unbefitting of a prince to consort with his manservant in such a familiar manner. He is _not_ as important as you are, Arthur, and the sooner you realize that the easier this will be." Uther moved forward and placed his hands on both of his shoulders. Arthur was stiff beneath his father's touch, as though a wire had been run across his back and drawn taut.

"You are a prince. You will someday hold Camelot in your hands. You will someday be forced to make decisions that will affect everyone, down to the lowliest serf. One day you _will_ produce an heir for this kingdom." Uther's fingers tightened around his shoulders to emphasize his point. "_That_ is the destiny you should be looking towards, Arthur. You cannot hope to achieve greatness if you become infatuated with some fool servant. You cannot hope to a  
earn the respect of your people if you lose it now, by dallying with the help. This is a good thing Arthur, you'll see that eventually."

Arthur jerked back from his father as a numb feeling crept through him. "Merlin is my destiny," he murmured, almost dazedly, "I love him."

Uther frowned, but turned away with an imperious gesture. "If I had known that, I would have banished him sooner."

"Banished?" asked Arthur sharply, his blue eyes snapping to his father's hard gaze. Again, the room felt as if it were shrinking around him.

"Yes," said Uther, straightforward and decisively, "I have banished Merlin from Camelot. And it will remain that way so long as I remain king."

"Where has he gone?" pressed Arthur. He braced himself heavily against his father's desk as around him, the world fell away in pieces.

"He's gone to serve Duke Aurelianus as Brom's manservant - permanently."

***

Arthur wasn't certain when he wandered down to Gaius' quarters, but somehow he found himself standing alone in Merlin's old bedroom. It was well into the night, though the moon's light cast a ethereal glow on the objects in the room, like he'd somehow stumbled into a fairy's room rather than the room of his former manservant.

He could have been imagining it, but Arthur thought he could catch a dash of Merlin's sent if he inhaled deeply enough. It made him all at once sad, hurt, and filled with a type of rage that filled every corner of his being until there was nothing of himself left.

He picked up a trinket from Merlin's dresser and cradled it in his hands. It was a statue of a knight on his horse, carved out of wood. He remembered when Merlin had received this: a little girl had given it to him when he'd stopped some of the local boys from bullying her. She'd insisted that Merlin take her toy, and after some awkward blushing and an almost shy, "Thanks", he had. Arthur of course, had ribbed his manservant mercilessly about only being able to gain a favor from a child. Still, while Merlin had scowled at him, Arthur had caught him looking at the toy knight at random times, with a soft, pleased smile on his face.

The prince could feel a bolt of anger jolt him from the memory. His fist tightened around the toy until its odd angles bit painfully into the flesh of his palms. Then, without any hesitation, he threw it against the wall with as much force as he could. It smashed against the stone and broke into two pieces.

He didn't know what overcame him then. All he knew was that he wanted to destroy everything that had ever belonged to Merlin; destroy the memory...destroy the pain.

He began to pick up object in the room and throwing them on the floor and against the walls. Glass shattered and books had their pages ripped out with shaking hands. He overturned Merlin's small bed and kicked a hole in his wardrobe. He destroyed everything he could and when it was done, his chest was heaving and his eyes were red with tears.

Arthur couldn't stand to be in that room any longer with Merlin's memory and smell lingering in every crevice. He left and saw Gaius standing somberly outside of the door in his nightgown, looking every bit as sad and lost as Arthur felt. He walked out without acknowledging the other man - it was too painful, too soon, too _real_ - and didn't look back.

(The End.)


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Merlin had made the journey to Brom's home in a drug-addled stupor.

He'd never had a chance, really: he'd been woken in the middle of the night with a chloroform-soaked rag pressed to his nose and mouth and dragged from his bed. He remembered snatches of what followed: the heaviness of his body as he was forced to stand before Uther Pendragon; the clumsiness of his tongue as he tried to protest what Brom was saying; the dull sense of outrage that flickered through him at the king's proclamation; and finally, the delayed shock that floundered in his chest as he was being half-carried from the room, one word bouncing weakly through his mind - _banished_.

Uther hadn't even cared he'd been obviously drugged – he'd been looking for an excuse to get rid of him for some time and had told him as much.

Brom had wasted no time in forcing some mixture down his throat that made him feel loose, sedate, and without the slightest bit of control over his own body. His limbs felt leaden and his head numb. He forgot at times that there was such a thing as language let alone the intricate weavings of magic, and he spent most of the carriage slumped next to Brom, whose smile was madder than a hatter's and a more slippery than a Cheshire cat's.

"Soon," the aristocrat had whispered to him, his voice so very soft and inviting in his ear, "soon you will be home."

And Merlin had been helpless to do anything but loll against the other's side and let him stroke his hair. He couldn't even cry, and the longer Brom spoke to him and brushed his hair, kissed his skin, and fed him more of whatever was keeping him drugged, he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to.

***

Merlin woke in the same haze that he'd be waking up in for the better part of a week.

He did manage to register something, however: a.) He was no longer in the carriage and b.) He was lying stomach-down on something downy and soft. He tried to squirm and realized that he his legs were strapped down and his wrists were tied beneath him. Then he became aware two other things: wetness and _pain_.

"Don't squirm now," purred a voice from somewhere above his head, "it will hurt for awhile but I have some salve that will dull the worst of the pain. Brom ran his fingers through Merlin's hair and the warlock couldn't find the energy shift away. His back throbbed and burned fiercely, like somebody had rubbed it raw with handfuls of sand and broken glass.

Merlin tried to say something, but his tongue felt unwieldy in his mouth, and curled awkwardly around his words. Finally, after several minutes, he managed to croak, "What did you do?"

Brom tilted his chin up with two fingers and dribbled some water into his mouth. Merlin was grateful for it as the cool liquid sloshed down his parched throat, but the pain of his back was slowly cutting into the fog in his mind. It threatened to steal all sense from him and when his muscles spasmed from being restrained in one position for too long, he whimpered pathetically.

"I just want to make sure that everybody knows you belong to me," replied Brom. He began to apply a thick paste to Merlin's back and though it stung at first, it soon made his burning skin feel cool and the slightest bit numb. The relief from the sharpness of the pain was gratifying, and he let his cheek sink into the softness below him with a choked sigh.

***

A few days Brom let Merlin see what he had done. They stood before a long mirror in the young lord's room and the warlock watched with somewhat more lucidity than he'd had in days, as Brom unwound the bandages from around his torso.

The air felt refreshing against his back and he tentatively stretched. His body still felt sluggish and his limbs responded jerkily to his commands, but it was better than before. He felt a sting as his healing skin rolled and pulled, but it was nothing compared to the hell he had gone through those first few days.

Slowly, Brom turned him so that his back was facing the mirror.

Merlin looked over his shoulder and gasped. He felt his knees go weak with horror. Brom caught him around the waist and admired his work in the mirror over his shoulder, his green eyes bright with something that bordered dangerously on lust.

Across his back in a precise and elegant script, a single word was carved deeply into Merlin's raw, puckered skin: **MINE.**

Brom dropped a light kiss to the sorcerer's pale shoulder and smiled a sleek, pleased smile.

"Welcome home, Merlin."

(The End.)


	18. Notice from the Author

**HEY GUYS!**

**I know this is ffnet illegal but hopefully they won't notice. I just wanted to let everyone know that the sequel to this story has begun to be posted, so if you are interested in reading it, it is called: "Time Enough and Now".**

**The prologue is up. I'm eager for your reactions so please enjoy it if you decide to take a look.**

**As ever,**

**Lass**


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